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Mr.  Aldrich's  Writings. 


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though he  would  stand  there  i/tliere  was  a  class,  Imt  he  stands  alone  ;  no 
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THE   QUEEN    OF   SHEBA 1.50 

MARJORIE    DAW  AND  OTHER    PEOPLE 1.50 

PRUDENCE  PALFREY.  With  a  full-page  drawing  by  Miss  Hai.lock  1.50 
THE  STORY  OF  A  BAD   BOY.    With  forty  Illustrations  by  Evtinc.e 

and  Harlfv 1.50 

CLOTH    OF   GOLD   AND    OTHER   POEMS 1.50 

FLOWER    AND   THORN.     Later  Poems 1.25 

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tions by  Miss  Curtis  and  Tho.mas  Moran 1 .50 

THE  STORY  OF  A  CAT.     Translated  from  the  French  of  Emile  de 

la  I?edolliere.     Illustrated  with  many  silhouettes i.oo 

XXXVI    LYRICS  AND   XII    SONNETS.     With  illuminated  titic-page   i. 00 
FRIAR  JEROME'S    BEAUTIFUL   BOOK,   AND   OTHER   POfc.MS. 

With  an  illuminated  title-page i.oo 

LIFE  OF  N.   P.  WILLIS.     In  the  series  "American  Men  and  Wo- 
men of  Letters.'"    {In  Press) 


/  have  been  reading  sonic  of  the  ponns  this  evening,  and  find  them  rich, 
sweel,  and  imaginative  in  such  a  degree  tJiat  I  am  sorry  not  to  luive fresher 
sympathies  in  order  to  taste  all  the  delight  thai  every  7eader  ought  to  draw 
from  them.  I  was  conscious,  here  and  there,  of  a  delicacy  that  1  luirdly 
dtred  to  breathe  upon.  —  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 


*,*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  by 
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u-' 


THOMAS   BAILEY    ALDRICH 


CLOTiT  OF  GOT  n 


OTHER    POEMS 


Cloth  of  Gold 

Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book 

Interludes 

Baby  Bell  and  Other  Poems 

Judith  Soonets 


BOSTON 


GTIjc  BtticrBiUc  IfDrcw,  CamtriUfff . 


Kntm-cl  ai-oinliii;:  to  Act  ol'  Cii.i'/n-ss,  in  tlie  year  1^7;!, 
nv    JAMKS    u.  os(;()()i)    .t    co., 

Ill  tlic  Ullice  ul'  till'   Librarian  uT  C.'um^r'ss,  at   Wusliiii'^luii. 


This  volume  includes  all  the  poems  which  the  author  cares  to 
retain  of  the  edition  published  by  Messrs.  Ticknor  and  Fields  in 
1865. 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  1874. 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

CLOTH   OF  GOLD. 

Fagk 

Prelude 13 

The  Crescent  and  the  Cross 14 

The  Sheik's  Welcome 16 

The  Unforgiven 17 

Dressing  the  Bride 19 

Two  Songs  from  the  Persian 20 

Tiger-Lilies 22 

The  Sultana 24 

When  the  Sultan  goes  to  Ispahan      .        .        .        .25 

Hascheesh 28 

A  Prelude 30 

A  Turkish  Legend 32 

II. 

PRIAR  JEROME'S    BEAUTIFUL   BOOK,   Etc. 

• 

Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book 33 

The  Lady  of  Castelnore 47 

Amontillado 52 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

Castles 56 

Ingratitude 58 

December 60 

III. 

INTERLUDES. 

The  Faded  Violet 65 

Dead 67 

The  LuNcn 68 

Before  the  Rain "        .  69 

After  the  Rain 70 

Wedded 71 

The  Bluebells  of  New  England  .        .        .        .72 

Nameless  Pain 74 

At  Two-a.nd-Twenty 73 

Glamourie 76 

Palabras  CariSosas 78 

Song 80 

May 82 

Lyrics 83 

Hesperides 85 

Poe 87 

Epilogue 88 

IV. 

BABY  BELL  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Baby  Bell 91 

Piscataqua  River 97 

The  Tragedy 99 


CONTENTS.  IX 

Haunted 103 

Pampina 105 

Lahia 110 

Invocation  to  Sleep 112 

Seadeift 115 

The  Queen's  Ride 118 

In  the  Old  Church  Towee 121 

The  Metempsychosis 123 

V. 

JUDITH, 

I.   Judith  in  the  Towee 131 

II.   The  Camp  or  Assur 145 

III.  The  Flight 159 

VI. 

SONNETS. 

Euterpe 177 

At  Bay  Ridge,  L.  1 178 

Pursuit  and  Possession 179 

Egypt  .        .        .        .   ' 180 

Miracles 181 

Fredericksburg 182 

By  the  Potomac 183 

L'  ENVOI 184 


CLOTH    OF    GOLD. 


CLOTH  OF  GOLD. 


PKELUDE. 

\70U  ask  us  if  by  rule  or  no 

Our  many-colored  songs  are  Avrought? 
Upon  the  cunning  loom  of  thought. 
We  weave  our  fancies,  so  and  so. 

The  busy  shuttle  comes  and  goes 
Across  the  rhymes,  and  deftly  weaves 
A  tissue  out  of  autumn  leaves. 
With  here  a  thistle,  there  a  rose. 

With  art  and  patience  thus  is  made 
The  poet's  perfect  Cloth  of  Gokl : 
When  woven  so,  nor  moth  nor  mould 
Nor  time  can  make  its  colors  fade. 


1-i  CLOTU  OF  GOLD. 


THE  CEESCENT  AND  THE  CEOSS. 

Ty'IND  was  my  friend  avIio,  in  the  Eastern  land, 

Remembered  me  with  such  a  gracious  hand, 
And  sent  this  Moorish  Crescent  which  has  been 
"Worn  on  the  haughty  bosom  of  a  queen. 

No  more  it  sinks  and  rises  in  unrest 
To  the  soft  music  of  her  heathen  breast ; 
No  barbarous  chief  shall  bow  before  it  more, 
No  turbaned  slave  shall  envy  and  adore. 

I  place  beside  this  relic  of  the  Sun 

A  Cross  of  Cedar  brought  from  Lebanon, 

Once  borne,  perchance,  by  some  pale  monk  who  trod 

The  desert  to  Jerusalem,  —  and  his  God! 

Here  do  tlicy  He,  two  symbols  of  two  creeds, 
Each  meaning  something  to  our  human  needs, 


THE  CRESCENT  AND  THE  CEOSS.        15 

Both  stained  with  blood,  and  sacred  made  by  faith, 
By  tears,  and  prayers,  and  martyrdom,  and  death. 

That  for  the  Moslem  is,  but  this  for  me ! 
The  waning  Crescent  lacks  divinity : 
It  gives  me  dreams  of  battles,  and  the  woes 
Of  women  shut  in  dim  seraglios. 

But  when  this  Cross  of  simple  wood  I  see. 
The  Star  of  Bethlehem  shines  again  for  me, 
And  glorious  visions  break  upon  my  gloom, — 
The  patient  Christ,  and  Mary  at  the  Tomb ! 


16  CLOTH   OF   GOLD. 


THE    SHEIK'S   WELCOMi.. 

"OECAUSE  thou  com'st,  a  wear}'  guest, 

Unto  my  tent,  1  bid  thee  rest. 
This  cruse  of  oil,  this  skin  of  wine. 
These  tamarinds  and  dates  are  thine  ; 
And  while  thou  catcst,  Medjid,  there. 
Shall  bathe  the  heated  nostrils  of  thy  mare. 

Illah  il'  Allah!     Even  so 
An  Arab  chieftain  treats  a  foe, 
Holds  him  as  one  without  a  fliult 
Who  breaks  his  bread  and  tastes  his  salt ; 
And,  in  lair  battle,   strikes  him  dead 
With  the  same  pleasure  that  he  gives  him  breatl 


THE   UNFOEGIVEN.  17 


THE   UNPOEGIVEN. 

VTEAR  my  bed,  there,  hangs  the  picture  jewels  could 

not  buy  from  me  • 
'Tis  a  Siren,  a  brown  Siren,  in  her  sea- weed  drapery, 
Playing  on  a  lute  of  amber,  by  the  margin  of  a  sea. 

In  the  east,  the  rose  of  morning  seems  as  if  't  would 

blossom  soon, 
But  it  never,  never  blossoms,  in  this  picture ;  and  the 

moon 
Never  ceases  to  be   crescent,  and  the  June  is  always 

June. 

And  the  heavy-branched  banana  never  yields  its  creamy 

fruit ; 
In    the    citron-trees    are    nightingales    forever    stricken 

mute ; 
And  the  Siren  sits,  her  fingers  on  the  pulses  of  the  lute, 

B 


18  CLOTH    OP    GOLD. 

In  the  hushes  of  the   midnight,  when   the   heliotropes 

groAV  strong 
With    the    dampness,    I    hear    music,  —  hear   a   quiet, 

plaintive  song,  — 
A  most  sad,  melodious  utterance,  as  of  some  immortal 

^\Tong,  — 

Like  the  pleading,  oft  repeated,  of  a  Soul  that  pleads 

in  vain, 
Of  a  damned  Soxd  repentant,  that  -vvoidd  fain  be  puro 

again  !  — 
And  I  lie  awake  and  listen  to  the  music  of  her  pain. 

And  whence  comes  this  mournful  music  ?  —  whence,  un- 
less it  chance  to  be 

From  the  Siren,  the  brouTi  Siren,  in  her  sca-wccd 
drapery. 

Playing  on  a  lute  of  amber,  by   the   margin  of  a  sea. 


DRESSING   THE   iJEIDE.  19 


DEESSING  THE  BEIDE. 

A   FRAGMENT, 

QO,  after  bath,  the  slave-girls  brought 
The  broidered  raiment  for  her  wear. 
The  misty  izar  from  Mosul, 
The  pearls  and  opals  for  her  hair, 
The  sli|)pcrs  for  her  supple  feet, 
(Two  radiant  crescent  moons  they  were,) 
And  lavender,  and  spikenard  sweety 
And  attars,  nedd,  and  richest  musk. 
When  they  had  finished  dressing  her, 
(The  eye  of  morn,  the  heart's  desire !) 
Like  one  pale  star  against  the  dusk, 
A  single  diamond  on  her  brow 
Trembled  with  its  imprisoned  fire  ! 


20  CLOTU   or   GOLD. 


TWO    SONGS    PEOM    THE    PERSIAN. 


/^  CEASE,  sweet  music,  lot  us  rest  ! 

Too  soon  ilie  hateful  liirlit  is  boru : 
Henceforth  let  day  be  counted  niglit, 

And  midnight  called  the  morn. 

0  cease,  sweet  music,  let  us  rest ! 

A  tearful,  languid  spirit  lies, 
Like  the  dim  scent  in  violets, 
lu  beauty's  gentle  eyes. 

There  is  a  sadness  in  sweet  sound 

That  quickens  tears.     O  music,  lest 
TTc  wee])  with  tliy  strange  sorrow,  cease  ! 
Be  still,  and  let  us  rest. 


TWO    SONGS    FROM   THE    PERSIAN.  21 

II. 

Ah !  sad  are  they  who  know  not  love, 
But,  far  from  passion's  tears  and  smiles, 
Drift  doAvn  a  moonless  sea,  beyond 
The  silvery  coasts  of  fairy  isles. 

And  sadder  they  whose  longing  lips 

Kiss  empty  air,  and  never  touch 

The  dear  Avarm  mouth  of  those  they  love,  — 

Waiting,  Avasting,  suffering  much. 

But  clear  as  amber,  fine  as  musk. 
Is  life  to  those  Avho,  pilgrim-wise. 
Move  hand  in  hand  from  daAvn  to  dusk. 
Each  morning  nearer  Paradise. 

0,  not  for  them  shall  angels  pray! 
They  stand  in  everlasting  light, 
They  walk  in  Allah's  smile  by  day. 
And  nestle  in  his  heart  by  night. 


22  CLOTH    OF    GOLD. 


TIGER-LILIES. 

T  LIKE  not  lady-slippers, 

Nor  yet  the  sweet-pea  blossoms. 
Nor  yet  the  flaky  roses, 

Red,  or  white  as  snow ; 
I  like  the  ehaliced  lilies. 
The  heavy  Eastern  lilies, 
The  gorgeous  tiger-lilies, 

That  in  our  garden  grow ! 

For  tliey  are  tall  and  slender  ; 

Their  mouths  arc  dashed  witli  cariiiine 

And  when  tlie  wind  sweeps  by  them, 

On  their  emerald  stalks 
They  bend  so  pro\id  and  gracefid,  — 
They  are  Circassian  women, 
The  favorites  of  the  Sultan, 

Adowm  our  rardcn  walks ! 


TIGER-LILIES. 

And  when  the  rain  is  falling, 

I  sit  beside  the  window 

And  watch  them  glow  and  glisten, 

How  they  bum  and  glow ! 
O  for  the.  burning  lilies. 
The  tender  Eastern  lilies. 
The  gorgeous  tiger-lilies, 

That  in  our  garden  grow! 


23 


24  CLOTH   OF   GOLD. 


THE    SULTANA. 

T  N  the  draperies'  piu-ple  gloom, 

In  the  gilded  chamber  she  stands, 
I  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  bosom's  bloom, 
And  the  white  of  her  jewelled  hands. 

Each  wandering  wind  that  blows 

By  the  lattice,  seems  to  bear 
Erom  her  parted  lips  the  scent  of  the  rose, 

And  the  jasmine  from  her  hair. 

Her  dark-browed  odalisques  lean 
To  the  fountain's  feathery  rain. 

And  a  paroquet,  l)y  the  broidered  screen. 
Dangles  its  silvery  chain. 

But  pallid,  luminous,  cold. 

Like  a  phantom  she  fills  the  place, 

Sick  to  the  heart,  in  that  cage  of  gold. 
With  her  sumptuous  disgrace  ! 


WHEN    THE    SL'LTAN    GOES   TO    ISPAHAN.  25 


WHEN   THE   SULTAN   GOES   TO   ISPAHAN. 

TTTHEN  the  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 

Goes  to  the  citij  Ispahan, 
Even  before  he  gets  so  far 
As  the  place  where  the  clustered  palm-trees  are. 
At  the  last  of  the  thirty  palace-gates, 
The  flower  of  the  harem,  Eose-in-Blooin, 
Orders  a  feast  in  his  favorite  room,  — 
Glittering  squares  of  colored  ice, 
Sweetened  with  syrop,  tinctured  with  spice, 
Creams,  and  cordials,  and  sugared  dates, 
Syrian  apples,  Otlunanee  quinces. 
Limes,  and  citrons,  and  apricots, 
And  Avines  that  are  kno\vn  to  Eastern  princes ; 
And  Nubian  slaves,  with  smoking  pots 
Of  spiced  meats  and  costliest  fisli 
And  all  that  the  curious  palate  could  wisli. 
Pass  in  and  out  of  the  cedarn  doors ; 
2 


26  CLOTH   OF    GOLD. 

Scattered  over  mosaic  floors 
Arc  ancniories,  myrtles,  and  violets. 
And  a  musical  fountain  throws  its  jets 
Of  a  hundred  colors  into  the  air. 
The  dusk  Sultana  loosens  her  hair. 
And  stains  with  the  henna-plant  the  tips 
Of  her  pointed  nails,  and  bites  her  lips 
Till  they  bloom  again ;  but,  alas,  that  rose 
Not  for  the  Sultan  buds  and  blows ! 
Not  for  the  Sidian  Shah-Zaman 
When  he  goes  to  the  citi/  hjjahaii. 

Then  at  a  wave  of  her  sunny  hand, 
The  dancing-girls  of  Samarcand 
Glide  in  like  sliupes  from  fairy-land, 
Making  a  sudden  inist  in  air 
Of  fleecy  veils  and  flouting  hair 
And  white  arms  lifted.      Orient  blood 
Huns  ill  tlieir  veins,  sliines  in  tlirir  lycs. 
And  there,  in  this  Eastern  Paradise, 
rilled  with  the  breath  of  sandal-wood. 
And  Khoteii  musk,  and  aloes  and  myn-J!, 
Sits  Ilose-in-Blooni  on  a  silk  divan, 


WHEN  THE  SULTAN  GOES  TO  ISPAHAN.     27 

Sipping  the  wines  of  Astraklian  ; 
And  her  Arab  lover  sits  with  her. 
That  'a  whe/i  the  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 
Goes  to  the  city  Ispahan. 

Now,  when  I  see  an  extra  light, 
Flaming,  flickering  on  the  night 
From  my  neighbor's  casement  opposite, 
I  know  as  well  as  I  know  to  pray, 
I  know  as  well  as  a  tongue  can  say, 
That  the  innocent  Sultan  Shah-Zaman 
Has  gone  to  the  city  Ispahan. 


28  CLOTH   OF   GOLD. 


HASCHEESH. 


I. 


OTRICKEN   with   dreams,  I  wandered   throu<;li    the 

night ; 
The  lieavcns  leaned  down  to  me  with  sjdentlid  tires ; 
The  south-wind  breathing  upon  iniseen  lyres 
Made  music  as  I  went  ;  and  to  my  siglit 
A  Palace  shaped  itself  against  the  skies : 
Great  sapphire-studded  portals  suddenly 
Opened  0!i  vast   Ionic  galleries 
Of  gold  and  porphyry,  and  I  could  see, 
Tlirough  half-drawn  curtains  that  let  in  tlie  day, 
Dim  tropic  gardens  stretching  far  away. 

k 

,*  II. 

Ah  !  what  a  wonder  fell  upon  my  soul, 
Wlu'Ti  from  that   structure  of  the  u})pir  aiis 


HASCIIEESH.  29 

I  saw  unfold  a  flight  of  crystal  stairs 

For  my  ascending Then  I  heard  the  roll 

Of  unseen  oceans  clashing  at  the  Pole 

A  terror  seized  upon  me  ....  a  vague  sense 
Of  near  calamity.     "  O,  lead  me  hence  !  " 
I  shrieked,  and  lo  !  from  out  a  darkling  hole 
That  opened  at  my  feet,  crawled  after  me. 
Up  the  broad  staircase,  creatures  of  huge  size, 
Tanged,  warty  monsters,  with  their  lips  and  eyes 
Hung  with  slim  leeches  sucking  hungrily.  — 
Away,  vile  drug  !  I  will  avoid  thy  spell. 
Honey  of  Paradise,  black  dew  of  Hell ! 


30  CLOrU    OF   GOLD. 


A  PRELUDE. 

TTASSAN  BEN  ABDUL  at  the  Ivory  Gate 
Of  Bagdad  sat  and  chattered  in  the  sun, 
Like  any  magpie  chattered  to  himself 
And  four  lank,  swarthy  Aral)  boys  that  stopt 
A  gamhling  game  Mith  peach-pits,  and  drew  near. 
Then  Iraan  Khan,  the  friend  of  thirsty  souls. 
The  seller  of  pure  water,  ceased  his  cry, 
And  placed  his  water-skins  against  the  gate,  — 
They  looked  so  like  him,  with  thi'ir  sallow  cheeks 
Puffed  out  like  Iman's.     Tlien  a  eunuch  came 
And  swung  a  pack  of  sweetmeats  from  his  head, 
And  stood,  —  a   hideous  pagan   cut   in  jet. 
And  then  a  .]v\y,  whose  sandal-straps  were  red 
With  desert-dust,  limped,  cringing,  to  the  crowd,  -- 
lie,   too,   would  listen  ;   and   close  after  him 
A  jeweller  that   glittered  like  his   sIk)]-). 
Then  two  hlind  mendicants,  who  wished  to  iro 


A   PRELUDE.  31 

Six  diverse  ways  at  once,  came  stumbling  by, 
But  hearing  Hassan  chatter,  sat  them  down. 
And  if  the  Khaleef  had  been  riding  near. 
He  would  have  paused  to  listen  like  the  rest, 
For  Hassan's  fame  was  ripe  in  aU  the  East. 
From  white-walled  Cairo  to  far  Ispahan, 
From  Mecca  to  Damascus,  he  was  known, 
Hassan,  the  Arab  with  the  Singing  Heart. 
His  songs  were  sung  by  boatmen  on  the  Nile, 
By  Beddowee  maidens,  and  in  Tartar  camps. 
While  all  men  loved  him  as  they  loved  their  eyes  ; 
And  when  he  spake,  the  ■vv'isest,  next  to  him, 
Was  he  who  listened.     And  thus  Hassan  sung. 
—  And  I,  a  stranger,  lingering  in  Bagdad, 
Half  English  and  half  Arab,  by  my  beard  ! 
Caught  at  the  gilded  epic  as  it  grew. 
And  for  my  Christian  brothers  wTote  it  down. 


32  CLOTH   OF   GOLD. 


A    TUKKISH    LEGEND. 


A     CERTAIN  Pasha,  dead  five  thousand  years, 
Once  from  his  harem  fled  in  sudden  tears, 


And  had  this  sentence  on  the  city's  gate 
Deeply  engraven,  "  Only  God  is  gi-eat." 

So  these  four  words  above  the  city's  noise 
Hung  like  the  accents  of  an  angel's  voice, 

And  evermore,  from  the  higli  barbacan, 
Saluted  each  returning  caravan. 

Lost  is  lliat  city's  glory.     Every  gust 

Lifts,  with  crisp  leaves,  the  unknown  Pasha's  dust. 

And  all  is  ruin,  —  save  one  -ttTinkled  gate 
Whereon  is  \\Titten,  "  Only  God  is  great." 


n. 

FRIAR  JEROME'S  BEAUTIFUL  BOOK, 

ETC. 


2* 


FRIAR  JEROME'S  BEAUTIFUL  BOOK, 

ETC. 


FEIAPt  JEROME'S  BEAUTIFUL  BOOK. 

A.  D.  1300. 

'T'HE  Friar  Jerome,  for  some  slight  sin, 

Done  in  liis  youth,  was  struck  with  woe. 
"  W^icn  I  am  dead,"  quoth  Friar  Jerome, 
"  Surely,  I  think  my  sold  \vi\l  go 
Shuddering  through  the  darkened  spheres, 
Down  to  eternal  iires  beloAV  ! 
I  shall  not  dare  from  that  dread  place 
To  lift  mine  eyes  to  Jesus'  face. 
Nor  Mary's,  as  she  sits  adored 
At  the  feet  of  Christ  the  Lord. 
Alas !  December  's  all  too  brief 
For  me  to  hope  to  wipe  away 
The  memory  of  my  sinful  May !  " 


36  FRIAR  Jerome's  beautiful  book. 

And  Friar  Jerome  was  fiill  of  grief 
That  April  evening,  as  lie  lay 
On  the  straw  pallet  in  his  cell. 
He  scarcely  heard  the  curfew-bell 
Calling  the  brotherhood  to  prayer ; 
But  he  arose,  for  't  was  his  care 
Nightly  to  feed  the  hungry  poor 
Tliat  crowded  to  the  Convent  door. 

His  choicest  duty  it  had  been  : 
But  this  one  night  it  weighed  him  (hiwii. 
"  What  work  for  an  immortal  soul. 
To  feed  and  clotlie  some  lazy  clown  ! 
Is  there  no  action  worth  my  mood, 
No  deed  of  daring,  high  and  pure, 
That  shall,  when  I  am  dead,  endure, 
A  well-spring  of  perpetual  good  ?  " 

And  straight  lie  tliouglit  of  those  great  tomes 
"With  clamps  of  gold,  —  tlie  Convent's  boast, — 
How  they  endured,  wliile  kings  and  reahns 
Past  into  darkness  and  were  lost  ; 
How  they  had  stood  from  a<xe  to  aije, 


FiiiAR  Jerome's  beautiful  book.  37 

Clad  in  their  yellow  vellum-mail, 
'Gainst  which  the  Paynim's  godless  rage, 
The  Vandal's  fire,  could  naught  avail : 
Though  heathen  sword-blows  fell  like  hail, 
Though  cities  ran  with  Christian  blood, 
Imperishable  they  had  stood  ! 
They  did  not  seem  like  books  to  him, 
But  Heroes,  Martyrs,  Saints,  —  themselves 
The  things  they  told  of,  not  mere  books 
Ranged  grimly  on  the  oaken  shelves. 

To  those  dim  alcoves,  far  witlidrawn, 
He  turned  with  measured  steps  and  slow, 
Trimming  his  lantern  as  he  went ; 
And  there,  among  the  shadows,  bent 
Above  one  ponderous  folio, 
With  whose  miracidous  text  were  blent 
Seraphic  faces  :  Angels,  crowned 
With  rings  of  melting  amethyst ; 
Mute,  patient  IMartyrs,  cruelly  bound 
To  blazing  fagots ;  here  and  there, 
Some  bold,  serene  Evangelist, 
Or  Mary  in  her  sunny  hair ; 


38  FRIAR  Jerome's  beautiful  book. 

And  here  and  there  from  out  the  ■words 
A  brilliant  tropic  bird  took  fliglit ; 
And  through  tlie  margins  many  a  vine 
"Went  waiuleriiitr,  —  roses,  red  and  white, 
Tuliji,  ■wind-flower,  and  eolunibiue 
Elossonied.     To  his  believing  mind 
These  things  wt-re  real,  and  the  wind. 
Blown  through  the  ninllioncd  window,  took 
Scent  from  the  lilies  in  the  book. 

"  Santa  ]\Iaria  !  "  cried  Friar  Jennne, 
"  Wiiatever  man   illumined  this, 
Though  he  were  steeped  heart-deep  in  sin, 
"Was  worthy  of  uiu'uding  bliss, 
And  no  (lonbt  hath  it  !      Ali  !  dear  Lord, 
Might  I   so  beautify  lliy   Word  ! 
What  sacristan,   the   cnuveiits   tlmwigh. 
Transcribes  with   such  ])reeisIoii  ?  who 
Does  such   initials  as  T  do? 
Lo  !   T  will  gird  nu;  to  this  work, 
And  save  me,  ere  tlie  one  chance  slips. 
On  smooth,  clean  parchment  T  'H  engross 
The  Prophet's  fell  Apocalypse ; 


FRIAR  Jerome's  beautiiul  dook,  39 

And  as  I  ■nTite  from  day  to  day, 
Perchauce  my  sins  Avill  pass  away." 

So  Friar  Jerome  began  his  Book. 
Prom  break  of  dawn  till  curfew-cliimo 
He  bent  above  the  lengthening  page^ 
Like  some  rapt  poet  o'er  his  rhyme. 
He  scarcely  paused  to  tell  his  beads. 
Except  at  night ;  and  then  he  lay 
xVnd  tost,  iinrestful,  on  the  straw, 
Impatient  for  the  coming  day,  — 
Working  like  one  who  feels,  perchance, 
That,  ere  the  longed-for  goal  be  won. 
Ere  Eeauty  bare  her  perf(;ct  breast. 
Black  Death  may  pluck  him  from  the  sim. 
At  intervals  the  busy  brook. 
Turning  the  mill-wheel,  caught  his  ear  ; 
And  through  the  grating  of  the  cell 
He  saw  the  honeysuckles  peei'. 
And  knew  't  was  summer,  that  the  sheep 
In  fragrant  pastur(>s  lay  asleep, 
And  felt,  that,  sonicliow,   God  was  near. 
In  his  green  pulpit  on  the  elm, 


40  FRIAR  Jerome's  beautiful  book. 

The  robin,  abbot  of  that  wood, 

Held  forth  by  times ;  and  Friar  Jerome 

Listened,  and  smiled,  and  understood. 

While  summer  ■vn-apt  the  blissful  land 
What  joy  it  was  to  labor  so. 
To  see  the  loug-trcssed  Angels  grow 
Beneath  the  cunning  of  his  liand, 
Vignette  and  tail-piece  subtly  ■^Touglit  ! 
And  little  recked  lie  of  tlie  poor 
That  missed  him  at  the  Convent  door; 
Or,  thinking  of  them,  put  the  thought 
Aside.     "  I  feed  the  souls  of  men 
Hcncefortli,  and  not  their  bodies!"  —  yet 
Their  sharp,  pinched  features,  now  and  then, 
Stoh;  in  between  him  and  liis  l>ook, 
And  idled  him  with  a  vague  regret. 

Now  on   that  region  fell  a  ])liglit  : 
The  corn  grew  cankered  in  its  sheath  ; 
And  from  the  verdurous  U})laiuls  rolled 
A  sidtry  vapor  fraught  with  deaih, — 
A  poisonous  mist,  that,  like  a  ])all, 


FRIAR  Jerome's  beautiful  book.  41 

Hung  black  and  stagnant  over  all. 

Then  came  the  sickness,  —  the  malign, 

Green-spotted  ten-or  called  the  Pest, 

That  took  the  light  from  loving  eyes. 

And  made  the  young  bride's  gentle  breast 

A  fatal  pillow.     All !  the  woe, 

The  crime,  the  madness  that  befell ! 

In  one  short  night  that  vale  became 

More  foul  than  Dante's  inmost  hell. 

Men  ciu-st  their  wives ;  and  mothers  left 

Tlieir  nursing  babes  alone  to  die. 

And  wantoned,  singing,  through  the  streets. 

With  shameless  brow  and  frenzied  eye ; 

And  senseless  clowns,  not  fearing  God,  — 

Such  power  tlie  spotted  fever  had,  — 

Eazed  Cragwood  Castle  on  the  hill. 

Pillaged  the  wine-bins,  and  went  mad. 

xVnd  evermore  tluit  dreadful  pall  I 

Of  mist  hung  stagnant  over  all : 

By  day,  a  sickly  light  broke  through 

The  heated  fog,  on  town  and  field  ; 

By  night,  the  moon,  in  anger,  turned 

Against  the  earth  its  mottled  slii(;ld. 


42  rRiAK  Jerome's  beautiful  book. 

Then  from  the  Convent,  two  and  two, 
The  Prior  chanting  at  their  head. 
The  monks  went  forth  to  shrive  the  siek. 
And  give  tlie  hungry  grave  its  dead,  — 
Only  Jerome,  he  ■went  not  forth. 
But  hiding  in  his  dusty  nook, 
*'  Let  come  what  will,  I  must  illume 
The  last  ten  pages  of  my  Book  !  " 
He  drew  his  stool  before  the  desk. 
And  sat  him  down,  distraught  aiul  wan. 
To  paint  his  daring  mastciiiieee, 
The  stately  fig\n-e  of  Saint  John. 
He  sketched  the  head  with  pious  care, 
Laid  in  the  tint,  when,  powers  of  Grace  ! 
He  found  a  griiniing  Deatlrs-head  there. 
And  not  the  grand  Apostle's  face  ! 

Then  up  he  rose  with  one  loi)g  cry  : 
" 'T  is  Satan's  self  docs  tin's,"  cried  lie, 
"  Because  I  sliut  and  l)arrc(l  Triy  heart 
When  Tliou  didst  loudest   call   to  nic  ! 
0  Lord,  Thou  kuow'st   the  thouglits  of  men, 
Tliou  kuow'st  that  I  did  vcarn  to  make 


FuiAR  Jerome's  beautiful  book.  43 

Thy  Word  more  lovely  to  the  eyes 
Of  sinful  souls,  for  Christ  his  sake  ! 
Nathless,  I  leave  the  task  undone  : 
I  give  up  all  to  follow  Thee,  — 
Even  like  him  who  gave  his  nets 
To  winds  and  Avaves  by  Galilee  !  " 

Which  said,  he  closed  the  precious  Book 
In  silence,  with  a  reverent  hand ; 
And  drawing  his  cowl  about  his  face 
Went  forth  into  the  Stricken  Land. 
And  there  was  joy  in  heaven  that  day,  — 
More  joy  o'er  this  forlorn  old  friar 
Than  over  fifty  sinless  men 
Who  never  struggled  Avith  desire  ! 

What  deeds  he  did  in  that  dark  town, 
What  hearts  he  soothed  Avith  anguish  torn, 
What  Aveary  Avays  of  aa'oc  he  trod. 
Arc  Avritten  in  the  Book  of  God, 
And  shall  be  read  at  Judgment  ]\[orn. 
The  Aveeks  crept  on,  Avhen,  one  still  day, 
God's  aAvfid  presence  filled  the  sky, 


44  FHIAK    JEROME'S    BEALTIFLL    BOOK. 

And  that  black  vapor  floated  by, 
And  lo  !  the  sickness  past  away. 
With  silvery  clang,  by  thorpe  and  town, 
The  bells  made  merry  in  their  spires  : 
O  God  !  to  think  the  Pest  is  flown  ! 
Men  kissed  each  other  on  the  street, 
And  music  piped  to  dancing  ft'ct 
The  livelong  night,  by  roaring  flres ! 

Then  Triar  Jerome,  a  Avastcd  shape,  — 
For  he  had  taken  the  Plague  at  last,  — 
Eose  up,  and  through  the  happy  town, 
And  through  the  wintry  woodlands,  past 
Into  the  Convent.     What  a  gloom 
Sat  brooding  in  cacli   desolate  room  ! 
What  silence  in  the  corridor ! 
For  of  that  long,  iiniuiuerous  train 
Which  issued  forth  a  month  before 
Scarce  twenty  had  come  back  again  ! 

Counting  his  rosary  step  by  step, 
With  a  forlorn  and  vacant  air, 
Like  some  unsliriven  churchvard  thing, 


PRiAB  Jerome's  beautiful  book.  45 

Tlie  Priar  crawled  up  the  mouldy  stair 
To  his  damp  ceU,  that  he  might  look 
Once  more  on  his  beloved  Book. 

And  there  it  lay  upon  the  stand, 
Open  !  —  he  had  not  left  it  so. 
He  grasped  it,  with  a  cry ;  for,  lo  ! 
He  saw  that  some  angelic  hand, 
While  he  was  gone,  had  finished  it ! 
There  't  was  complete,  as  he  had  planned ; 
There,  at  the  end,  stood  ^ini$,  ^^n^it 
And  gilded  as  no  man  could  do,  — 
Not  even  that  pious  anchoret, 
Bilfvid,  the  wonderful,  nor  yet 
The  miniatore  Ethelwold, 
Nor  Durham's  Bishop,  who  of  old 
(England  still  hoards  the  priceless  leaves) 
Did  the  Foin-  Gospels  all  in  gold. 
And  Friar  Jerome  nor  spoke  nor  stirred. 
But,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  that  word. 
He  passed  from  sin  and  want  and  scorn ; 
And  suddenly  the  chapel-bells 
Eans:  in  the  holv  Christmas-Morn ! 


46  FRiAfi  jekome's  beautiful  book. 

lu  tliosc  wild  wars  which  racked  the  laud 
Since  then,  and  kingdoms  rent  in  twain, 
Tlie  Friar's  Beautiful  Book  was  lost,  — 
Thiit  miracle  of  hand  and  brain  : 
Yet,  tliough  its  leaves  Averc  torn  and  tost. 
The  volume  was  not  writ  in  vain  ! 


THE   LADY   OF   CASTELNORE.  47 


B^ 


THE  LADY  OF  CASTELNOEE. 

A.  D.  1700. 
1. 

iEETAGNE  had  not  her  peer.     In  the  Province  far 

or  near 
There  were  never  such   bro'VA'n   tresses,  such  a  faultless 

hand; 
She  had  youth,  and  she  had  gold,  she   had  jewels   all 

untold, 
And  many  a  lover  bold  wooed  the  Lady  of  the  Land. 

2. 
But  she,  with  quccnliest  grace,  bent  low  her  pallid  face, 
And    "  Woo    me  not,  for   Jesus'  sake,  fair  gentlemen," 

she  said. 
If  they  woo'd,  then  —  with    a   frown  she  would  strike 

their  passion  down  : 
She   miglit   luive   wed   a    crown  to  the  ringlets  on  her 

head. 


48  THE    LADY    OF    CASTELNORE. 

3. 

From  the  dizzy  castle-tips,   hour  by  hour  she  watched 

the  ships, 
Like  sheeted  phantoms  coming  and  going  evermore, 
While  the  twilight  settled  down  on  the  sleepy  seaport 

to^™, 
On   the   gables   peaked   and  brown,  that  had  sheltered 

kings  of  yore. 

4. 
Dusky  belts  of  cedar-wood   partly  elaspt  the  widening 

ilood ; 
Like  a  knot  of  daisies  lay  the  hamlets  on  the  liill  ; 
In  the  hostelry  below  sparks  of  liglit  woidd   come  and 

go, 
And  faint  voices,  strangely  low,  from  the  garrulons  old 

mill. 

5. 

Here  the  land  in  grassy  swells  gently  broke  ;  tlicrc  sunk 

in  dells 
With  mosses  green  and  purph',  and  prongs  of  rock  and 

peat  ; 


THE    LADY   OF    CASTELNORE.  49 

Here,  in  statue-like  repose,  an  old  wrinkled  mountain 

rose, 
With  its  hoaiy  head  in   snows,  and  wild-roses  at  its 

feet. 

6. 

And  so  oft  she  sat  alone  in  the  turret  of  gray  stone. 
And   looked   across    the    moorland,    so    woful,   to    the 

sea. 
That  there  grew  a  village-cry,  how  her  cheek  did  lose 

its  dye. 
As  a  ship,  once,  sailing  by,  faded  on  the  sapphire  lea. 

7. 
Her  few  walks  led   all   one  way,  and  all  ended  at  the 

gray 
And   ragged,    jagged    rocks   that   fringe   the   lonesome 

beach  ; 
There  she  would  stand,  the  Sweet !  with  the  white  surf 

at  her  feet. 
While  above  her  wheeled   the   fleet  span-ow-hawk  with 

startlino:  screech. 


50  THE    LADY    OF    CASTELNORE. 

8. 

And  she  ever  loved  the  sea,  —  God's  half-uttered  mys- 
tery, — 

With  its  iiuUiou  lips  of  shells,  its  never-ceasing  roar : 

And  t'  was  well  that,  when  she  died,  they  made  her  a 
grave  beside 

The  blue  pulses  of  the  tide,  by  the  towers  of  Castel- 
nore. 

9. 

Now,  one  chill  Xovcniber  morn,  many  russet  autumns 

gone, 
A  strange  sliip  witli    folded   wings    lay  dozing  off   the 

lea  ; 
It   had   lain    tlirougliout    the    niglit    with  its  wings  of 

murky  wliitt; 
Folded,  after  weary  flight,  —  the  worn  nursling  of  the 

sea. 

10. 

Crowds  of  peasants  flocked  the  sands;  tlicre  were  tears 
and  clasping  hands  ; 

And  a  sailor  from  the  ship  stalked  through  the  kirk- 
yard  frat(.'. 


THE   LADY   OF    CASTELNOEE.  61 

Then  amid  the  grass  that   crept,  fading,  over  her  who 

slept, 
How  he  hid  his  face  and  wept,  crying.  Late,  alas !  too 

late  ! 

11. 

And  they  called  her  cold.  God  knows Under- 
neath the  winter  snows 

The  invisible  hearts  of  flowers  grow  ripe  for  blossom- 
ing ! 

And  the  lives  that  look  so  cold,  if  their  stories  could 
be  told, 

Would  seem  cast  in  gentler  mould,  would  seem  full  of 
love  and  spring. 


52  AMONTILLADO. 


AMONTILLADO. 

VIXTAGE,  1S26. 


"P  AFTERS  black  mth  smoke, 

AYliitc  -with  sand  the  floor  is, 
Fellows  from  the  mines 

Calling  to  Dolores,  — 
Tawny  flower  of  Spain 

Transplanted  in  Nevada, 
Keeper  of  the  wines 

In  this  old  posada. 

2. 

Hither,  light-of-foot, 

Dolores,  Ilehe,  Circe  !  — 

Pretty  Spanish  girl, 

With  not  a  bit  of  mercv  ! 


AMONTILLADO.  53 

Here  I  'm  sad  and  sick, 

Faint  and  thirsty  very, 
And  she  does  n't  bring 

The  Amontillado  SheiTy  ! 

3. 

Thank  you.     Breath  of  June  ! 

Now  my  heart  beats  free,  ah ! 
Kisses  for  your  hand, 

Amigita  mia ! 
You  shall  live  in  song, 

Eipe  and  warm  and  cheery, 
Mellowing  with  years, 

Like  Amontillado  Sherry. 

4. 

Evil  spirits,  fly  ! 

Care,  begone,  blue  dragon ! 
Only  shapes  of  joy 

Are  sculptured  on  the  flagon : 
LjTics,  —  repartees,  — 

Kisses,  —  all  that  's  merry 


B4  AMONTILLADO. 

Eise  to  touch  the  Up 
In  Amontillado  Sherry ! 


5. 

Here  be  worth  and  wealth, 

And  love,  the  arch  enchanter; 
Here  the  golden  blood 

Of  saints,  in  this  decanter  ! 
When  old  Charon  comes 

To  row  me  o'er  his  ferry, 
I  '11  bribe  him  with  a  case 

Of  Amontillado  Sherry ! 

6. 

While  the  cartli  spins  round 

And  the  stars  lean  over. 
May  this  amber  sprite 

Never  lack  a  lover. 
Blessed  be  tlie  man 

Wlio  lured  licr  from  the  l)err}% 
And  blest  the  <,Mrl  avIio  brings 

The  Amontillado  Sherry  ! 


AMONTILLADO.  55 

7. 

What !  the  flagon  's  dry  ? 

Hark,  old  Time's  confession,  — 
Both  hands  crost  at  XII., 

Owning  his  transgression ! 
Pray,  old  monk !  for  all 

Generous  soids  and  merry. 
May  they  have  their  fill 

Of  Amontillado  Sheny ! 


56  CASTLES. 


CASTLES. 

'X'HERE  is  a  picture  in  my  brain 

That  only  fiulcs  to  come  again,  — 
The  sunlight,  through  a  veil  of  rain 

To  leeward,  gilding 
A  narrow  stretch  of  brown  sea-sand, 
A  lighthouse  half  a  league  from  land, 
And  two  young  lovers,  hand  in  hand, 

A  castle-building. 

Upon  the  budded  apple-trees 

The  robins  sing  by  twos  and  threes. 

And  ever,  at  the  faintest  Ijree/.e, 

Down  drops  a  blossom; 
And  ever  would  that  lover  Ix; 
The  wiiul  that  robs  tlic  burgeoned  tree, 
And  lifts  the  soft  tress  (hiiiitily 

On  Beaut v's  bosom. 


CASTLES.  57 

Ah,  graybeard,  wliat  a  happy  thing 
It  was,  when  life  was  in  its  spring, 
To  peep  through  love's  betrothal  ring 

At  fields  Elysian, 
To  move  and  breathe  in  magic  air. 
To  think  that  all  that  seems  is  fair,  — 
Ah,  ripe  young  mouth  and  golden  hair, 

Thou  pretty  vision  ! 

Well,  well,  I  think  not  on  these  two 
But  the  old  wound  breaks  out  anew. 
And  the  old  dream,  as  if  't  were  true, 

In  my  heart  nestles  ; 
Then  tears  come  welling  to  my  eyes, 
For  yoiidcr,  all  in  saintly  guise, 
As  't  were,  a  sweet  dead  woman  lies 

Upon  the  trestles. 


3* 


58  INGEATITUDE. 


INGRATITUDE. 

'POUE.  bluish  eggs  all  in  the  moss  ! 

Soft-lined  home  on  the  cherry -bough ! 
Life  is  trouble,  and  love  is  loss,  — 
There 's  only  one  robin  now. 

0  robin  up  in  the  cherry-tree, 

Singing  your  soul  away, 
Great  is  the  grief  bcfuUen  me, 

And  how  can  you  be  so  gay  ? 

Long  ago  when  you  cried  in  the  nest, 

The  last  of  the  sickly  brood, 
Scarcely  a  pinfcathcr  wanning  your  breast, 

Wlio  was  it  brought  you  food  ? 

Who  said,  "  Music,  come  fill  his  throat, 
Or  ever  the  Mav  be  fled  "  ? 


INGRATITUDE.  59 

Who  was  it  loved  the  wee  sweet  note 
And  the  bosom's  sea-shell  red? 

Who  said,  "  Cherries,  grow  ripe  and  big, 
Black  and  ripe  for  this  bird  of  mine  "  ? 

How  little  bright-bosom  bends  the  twig. 
Sipping  the  black-heart's  wine ! 

Now  that  my  days  and  nights  are  woe. 
Now  that  I  weep  for  love's  dear  sake,  — 

There  you  go  singing  away  as  though 
Never  a  heart  could  break ! 


GO  I)£C£MB£&. 


DECEMBER. 

/^XLY  the  sea  intoning, 

Only  the  wuinscot-niouse, 
Only  the  wild  wind  moaning 
Over  the  lonely  house. 

Darkest  of  all  Decembers 
Ever  my  life  has  known, 
Sitting  here  by  the  embers, 
Stunned  and  helpless,  alone,  — 

Dreaming  of  two  graves  lying 
Out  in  the  damp  and  eliill  : 
One  wliere  th('  buzzard,  Hying, 
Pauses  at  ]\[alveru  Hill  ; 

The  other,  —  alas  !  the  pillows 
Of  that  uneasy  l)ed 


DECEMBER.  61 

Rise  and  fall  with  the  billows 
Over  our  sailor's  head. 

Theirs  the  heroic  stoiy,  — 
Died,  by  frigate  and  town ! 
Theirs  the  Calm  and  the  Glory, 
Theirs  the  Cross  and  the  Crown. 

Mine  to  linger  and  languish 
Here  by  the  wintry  sea. 
Ah,  faint  heart  !  in  thy  anguish. 
What  is  there  left  to  thee  ? 

Only  the  sea  intoning, 
Only  the  wainscot-mouse. 
Only  the  wild  wind  moauin"- 
Over  the  lonely  house. 


m. 

INTERLUDES. 


INTERLUDES. 


THE  FADED   VIOLET. 

TTTHAT  thought  is  folded  in  thy  leaves! 

What  tender  thought,  what  speechless  pain ' 
I  hold  thy  faded  lips  to  mine. 
Thou  darling  of  the  April  rain ! 

I  hold  thy  faded  lips  to  mine, 
Though  scent  and  azure  tint  are  fled, — 
O  dry,  mute  lips  !    ye  are  the  type 
Of  something  in  me  cold  and  dead : 

Of  something  wilted  like  thy  leaves ; 
Of  fragrance  flown,  of  l)caaty  dim  ; 
Yet,  for  the  love  of  those  white  hands 
That  found  thee  by  a  river's  brim,  — 


66  INTERLUDES. 

That  found  thee  when  thy  de^\7•  mouth 
Was  purpled  as  •with,  stains  of  wine, — 
For  love  of  her  who  love  forgot, 
I  hold  thy  faded  lips  to  mine. 

That  thou  shoiddst  live  when  I  am  dead, 
Wlien  hate  is  dead,  for  me,  and  wrong, 
For  this,  I  use  my  subtlest  art, 
For  this,  I  fold  thee  iu  my  song. 


DEAD.  67 


DEAD. 

A    SOREOWPUL  woman  said  to  me, 
"  Come  in  and  look  on  our  child." 
I  saw  an  Angel  at  shut  of  day, 
•And  it  never  spoke,  —  but  smiled. 

I  think  of  it  in  the  city's  streets, 
I  dream  of  it  when  I  rest, — 
The  violet  eyes,  the  waxen  hands. 
And  the  one  white  rose  on  the  "breast ! 


08  INTERLUDES. 


THE  LUNCH. 

A     GOTHIC  window,  where  a  damask  curtain 

Made  the  blank  daylight  shadowy  and  uncertain 
A  slab  of  agate  on  four  eagle-talons 
Held  trimly  up  and  neatly  taught  to  balance : 
A  porcelain  dish,  o'er  which  in  many  a  cluster 
Black  grapes  hung  doAvn,  dead-ripe  and  without  lustre  : 
A  melon  cut  in  thin,  delicious  slices : 
A  cake  that  seemed  mosaic-work  in  spices : 
Two  China  cups  with  golden  tulips  sunny, 
And  rich  inside  with  chocolate  like  honey : 
And  she  and  I  the  banquet-scene  completing 
With  dreamy  words,  — and  very  pleasant  eating! 


BEFOEE    THE   BAIN.  69 


BEFOEE  THE  BAIN. 

TTTE  knew  it  would  rain,  for  all  the  morn, 

A  spirit  on  slender  ropes  of  mist 
Was  lowering  its  golden  buckets  down 
Into  the  vapory  amethyst 

Of  marshes  and  swamps  and  dismal  fens, — 
Scooping  the  dew  that  lay  in  the  flowers, 

Dipping  the  jewels  out  of  the  sea. 

To  sprinkle  them  over  the  land  in  showers. 

We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  the  poplurs  showed 
The  white  of  their  leaves,  the  amber  grain 

Shrunk  in  the  wind,  —  and  the  lightning  now 
la  tangled  in  tremulous  skeins  of  rain ! 


70  INTERLUDES. 


APTER  THE  RAIN. 

nPHE  rain  has  ceased,  and  in  my  room 

The  sunshine  pours  an  airy  flood ; 
And  on  the  church's  dizzy  vane 
The  ancient  Cross  is  bathed  in  blood. 

From  out  the  dripping  i^T-leaves, 
Antiquely  caiTcn,  gray  and  high, 
A  dormer,  facing  westward,  looks 
Upon  the  \'illage  like  an  eye  : 

And  now  it  glimmers  in  the  stm, 
A  square  of  gold,  a  disk,  a  speck : 
And  in  the  belfry  sits  a  Dove 
With  purple  ripples  on  her  neck. 


WEDDED.  71 


WEDDED. 

(PEOVENgAL  AIR.) 

'T^HE  happy  bells  shall  ring, 

Marguerite ; 

The  summer  birds  shall  sing, 

Marguerite ;  — 
You  smile,  but  you  shall  wear 
Orange-blossoms  in  your  hair, 

Marguerite. 

Ah  me !  the  bells  have  nmg. 

Marguerite  ; 
The  siunmer  birds  have  sung. 

Marguerite ;  — 
But  cypress  leaf  and  rue 
Make  a  sony  A\Tcath  for  you, 

Marguerite. 


72  INTEELUDES. 


THE  BLUEBELLS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

T^HE  roses  are  a  regal  troop, 

And  modest  folk  the  daisies ; 
But,  Bluebells  of  New  England, 
To  you  I  give  my  praises,  — 

To  you,  fair  phantoms  in  the  sun, 

Whom  merry  Spring  discovers. 
With  bluebirds  for  yom-  laureates. 

And  honey-bees  for  lovers.  ^ 

The  south-wind  breathes,  and  lo  !  you  throng 

This  rugged  land  of  ours  : 
I  think  the  pale  blue  clouds  of  May 

Drop  down,  and  turn  to  flowers ! 

By  cottage  doors  along  the  roads 
You  show  your  winsome  faces. 


THE   BLUEBELLS   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  73 

And,  like  the  spectre  lady,  haimt 
The  lonely  woodland  places. 

All  night  your  eyes  are  closed  in  sleep, 

Kept  fresh  for  day's  adorning  : 
Such  simple  faith  as  yours  can  see 

God's  coming  in  the  morning ! 

You  lead  me  by  your  holiness 

To  pleasant  ways  of  duty^ 
You  set  my  thoughts  to  melody,     ' 

You  fill  me  ^vith  your  beauty. 

Long  may  the  heavens  give  you  rain. 

The  sunshine  its  caresses, 
Long  may  the  woman  that  I  love 

Ent^v-ine  you  in  her  tresses ! 


74  INTEKLUDES. 


NMIELESS  PAIN. 

TN  my  nostrils  the  summer  wind 

Blows  the  exquisite  scout  of  the  rose 
0  for  the  golden,  golden  wind. 

Breaking  the  buds  as  it  goes  ! 
Breaking  the  buds  and  bending  the  grass, 

And  spdling  the  scent  of  the  rose. 

0  wind  of  the  summer  mom, 
Tearing  the  petals  in  twain. 

Wafting  the  fragrant  soul 

Of  the  rose  through  valley  and  plain, 

1  would  you  could  tear  my  licart  to-day, 
And  scatter  its  nameless  pain  ! 


AT  TWO-AND-TWENTY.  75 


AT  TWO-AND-TWENTY. 

"i /TARIAN,  May,  and  Maud 

Have  not  past  me  by, — 
Arched  foot,  and  mobile  mouth, 
And  bronze-brown  eye! 

When  my  hair  is  gray, 

Then  I  shall  be  wise ; 
Then,  thank  Heaven!  I  shall  not  care 

Per  bronze-brown  eyes. 

Then  let  Maud  and  May 

And  Marian  pass  me  by : 
So  they  do  not  scorn  me  now, 

What  care  I? 


76  INTEKLUDES. 


GLAMOUEIE. 

TTNDER  the  night. 

In  the  white  moonshine. 
Sit  thou  with  nie, 
By  the  graveyard  tree, 
Imogene. 

The  fire-flies  swarm 

In  the  white  moonshine, 
Eacli  with  its  light 
For  our  bridal  night, 
Imogene. 

Blushing  Avith  love, 

In  the  white  moonshine, 
Lie  in  my  arms, 
So,  safe  from  alarms, 
Imojrene. 


GLAMOURIE.  77 

Paler  art  thou 

Than  the  white  moonshine. 
Ho !  thou  art  lost,  — 
Thou  lovest  a  Ghost, 
Imogene ! 


7S  INTERLUDES. 


PALABRAS  CARI^^OSAS. 

(SPANISH  AIR.) 

f^  OOD  night !  I  have  to  say  good  night 

To  such  a  host  of  peerless  things  ! 
Good  night  unto  that  fragile  hand 
All  queenly  ^vith  its  weight  of  rings ; 
Good  night  to  fond,  uplifted  eyes, 
Good  night  to  chestnut  braids  of  hair. 
Good  night  unto  the  perfect  mouth. 
And  all  the  sweetness  nestled  there,  — 
The  snowy  hand  detains  me,  then 
I  '11  have  to  say  Good  night  again ! 

But  there  will  come  a  time,  my  love. 

When,  if  I  read  our  stars  aright, 

I  shall  not  linger  by  this  porch 

With  my  adieus.     Till  then,  good  niaht  ! 

You  wish  the  time  were  now  ?     And   I. 

You  do  not  blush  to  wish  it  so  ? 


PALABKAS    CARIIJOSAS.  79 

You  would  have  blushed  yourself  t(3  death 

To  own  so  much  a  year  ago,  — 

What,  both  these  snowy  hands !  ah,  then 
I  'U  have  to  say  Good  night  again ! 


so  1XTEKLUDE3. 


SONG. 


f\  WHERE  is  our  dainty,  our  darling, 

The  daintiest  darling  of  all  ? 
Wliere  is  the  voice  on  the  stairway, 

Where  is  the  voice  in  the  hall  ? 
The  little  short  steps  in  the  entry. 

The  silveiy  laugh  in  the  hall  ? 
Where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling. 
The  daintiest  darling  of  all, 
Little  Maud  ? 


The  peaches  arc  ripe  in  the  orchard, 

The  apricots  ready  to  fall ; 
And  the  grapes  reach  up  to  the  sunshine 

Over  tlic  garden-wall. 


SONG.  81 

0  rosebud  of  women !  where  are  you  ? 

(She  never  replies  to  our  call !) 
Where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling, 

The  daintiest  darling  of  all, 
Little  Maud  ? 


4* 


82  INTEELUDES. 


MAY. 

TTEBE's  here,  May  is  here! 

The  air  is  fresh  and  sunny; 
And  the  miser-bees  arc  busy 
Hoarding  golden  honey ! 

See  the  knots  of  buttercups. 
And  the  purple  pansies,  — 
Thick  as  these,  within  my  brain, 
Grow  the  wildest  fancies ! 

Let  me  ■write,  my  songs  to-day, 
Ehymes  with  dulcet  closes,  — 
Four-line  epics  one  might  hide 
In  the  hearts  of  roses. 


LYBIC3.  ba 


LTEICS. 


T  HAVE  placed  a  golden 

Eing  upon  the  hand 
Of  the  blithest  little 
Lady  in  the  land ! 

When  the  early  roses 
Scent  the  sunny  air, 
She  shall  gather  white  ones 
To  tremble  in  her  hairl 

Hasten,  happy  roses, 
Come  to  me  by  May,  — 
In  your  folded  petals 
Lies  my  wedding-day. 

II. 

The  chestnuts  shine  through  the  cloven  rind. 
And  the  woodland  leaves  are  red,  my  dear; 


84  INTERLUDES. 

The  scarlet  fuchsias  burn  in  the  wind, — 
Funeral  plumes  for  the  Year ! 

Tlie  Year  ■which  has  brought  me  so  much  woe 

That  if  it  were  not  for  you,  my  dear, 
I  could  wish  the  fuchsias'  fire  might  glow 
For  me  as  well  as  the  Year. 

III. 

Out  from  the  depths  of  ray  heart 
Had  arisen  this  single  cry. 
Let  me  behold  my  beloved, 
Let  me  behold  her,  and  die. 

At  last,  like  a  sinful  soul 
At  the  portals  of  Heaven  I  lie, 
Never  to  walk  with  the  blest. 
Ah,  never !  .  .  .  only  to  die. 


HESPERIDES.  S3 


HESPERIDES. 

TE  thy  soul,  Hcmck,  dwelt  with  me, 

This  is  what  my  songs  would  be : 
Hints  of  our  sea-breezes,  blent 
With  odors  from  the  Orient ; 
Indian  vessels  deep  with  spice ; 
Star-showers  from  the  Norland  ice ; 
Wine-red  jewels  that  seem  to  hold 
Fire,  but  only  bum  with  cold ; 
iVntique  goblets,  strangely  MTought, 
Filled  with  the  wine  of  happy  thought; 
Bridal  measures,  vain  regrets, 
Laburnum  buds  and  violets ; 
Hopefid  as  the  break  of  day ; 
Clear  as  crs'stal ;  new  as  May ; 
Musical  as  brooks  that  run 
O'er  yellow  shallows  in  the  sun; 


86  INTERLUDES. 

Soft  as  the  satia  fringe  that  shades 
The  eyelids  of  thy  fragrant  maids; 
Brief  as  thy  lyrics,  Hcrrick,  are, 
And  polished  as  the  bosom  of  a  star. 


poE.  87 


POE. 

TTE  walked  with  demons,  ghouls,  and  things 

Unsightly  .  .  .  terrors  and  despairs, 
And  ever  in  the  blackened  airs 
A  dismal  raven  flapt  its  -wings. 

He  wasted  richest  gifts  of  God, 
But  here  's  the  limit  of  his  woes,  — 
Sleep  rest  him  !     See,  above  him  grows 
The  very  grass  whereon  he  trod. 

Behold !  within  this  narrow  grave 
Is  shut  the  mortal  part  of  liim. 
Behold !  he  could  not  wholly  dim 
The  gracious  genius  Heaven  gave,  — 

For  strains  of  music  here  and  there, 
Weird  murmurings,  vague,  prophetic  tones. 
Are  blown  across  the  silent  zones 
Forever  in  the  midniffht  air. 


88  INTtULUDES. 


EPILOGUE. 

T7R0M  out  the  blossomed  cherry-tops 

Sing,  blithesome  llobiu,  chant  and  sing ; 
"With  chii-p,  and  trill,  and  magic-stops 
Win  thou  the  listening  car  of  Spring  ! 

For  wliile  thou  lingerest  in  delight,  — 
An  idle  poet,  with  thy  rhyme. 
The  summer  hours  will  take  their  flight 
And  leave  tlu'c  in  a  barren  clime. 

Not  all  the  Autumn's  brittle  gold. 
Nor  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  star  shall  bring 
The  jocund  spirit  wliich  of  old 
Made  it  an  easy  joy  to  sing ! 

So  said  a  poet,  —  having  lost 
The  precious  time  when  he  was  young,  — 
Now  wandering  by  the  wintry  coast 
"Witli  empty  heart  and  silent  tongue. 


IV. 

BABY  BELL  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


BABY  BELL  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


BABY  BELL. 

I. 

TTAVE  you  not  heard  the  poets  tell 

How  came  the  dainty  Baby  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours? 
The  gates  of  heaven  were  left  ajar : 
With  folded  hands  and  dreamy  eyes. 
Wandering  out  of  Paradise, 
She  saw  this  planet,  like  a  star. 

Hung  in  the  glistening  depths  of  even, — 
Its  bridges,  running  to  and  fro, 
O'er  which  the  white-winged  Angels  go. 

Bearing  the  holy  Dead  to  heaven. 
She  touched  a  bridge  of  flowers,  —  those  feet. 
So  light  they  did  not  bend  the  bells 
Of  the  celestial  asphodels, 


92  BABY   BELL. 

They  fell  like  dew  upon  the  flowers  : 
Then  all  the  air  grew  strangely  sweet ! 
And  thus  came  dainty  Baby  Bell 
Into  this  world  of  ours. 

II. 

She  came  and  brought  delicious  May. 

The  swallows  built  i)uneuth  the  eaves; 

Like  sunlight,  in  and  out  the  leaves 
The  robins  wont,  the  livelong  day  ; 
The  lily  swung  its  noiseless  bell ; 

And  o'er  iIk;  poreli   tlie  trembling  vine 

Seemed  bursting  A\ith   its  veins  of  wine 
How  sweetly,   softly,   twilight   fell  ! 
0,  earth  Avas  full  of  singing-birds 
And  opening  springtide  llowers, 
When  the  dainty  P>aby  Bell 

Came  to  this  world  of  ours ! 

III. 
0  Baby,  dainty  Baby  Bell, 
ITow  fair  she   grew   from   diiy   to   day  ! 
"What   Monian-natiire   filed   lur  eves, 


BABY   BELL.  93 

What  poetry  within  them  lay,  — 
Those  deep  and  tender  twilight  eyes, 

So  full  of  meaning,  pui'e  and  bright 
As  if  she  yet  stood  in  the  light 
Of  those  oped  gates  of  Paradise. 
And  so  we  loved  her  more  and  more: 
Ah,  never  in  our  hearts  before 

"Was  love  so  lovely  born ! 
We  felt  we  had  a  link  between 
This  real  world  and  that  unseen, — 

The  land  beyond  the  mom; 
And  for  the  love  of  those  dear  eyes, 
For  love  of  her  whom   God  led  forth, 
(The  mother's  being  ceased  on  earth 
^Mien  Eaby  came  from  Paradise,)  — 
For  love  of  Him  who  smote  our  lives, 

And  woke  the  chords  of  joy  and  pain, 
We  said,  Bear  Chrid  !  —  our  hearts  bent  down 
Like  violets  after  rain. 

TV. 

And  now  the  orchards,  wliich  were  white 
And  red  with  blossoms  wlicn  she  came, 


94  BABY   BELL. 

Were  rich  in  autumn's  mellow  prime; 
The  clustered  apples  burnt  like  flame, 
The  soft-cheeked  peaches  blushed  and  fell, 
The  ivory  chestnut  burst  its  shell, 
The  grapes  hung  purpling  in  the  grange : 
And  time  wronglit  just  as  rich  a  change 

In  little  Baby  Bell. 
Her  lissome  form  more  perfect  grew, 

And  in  her  features  we  could  trace, 
In  softened  cur\'es,  her  mother's  face. 
Her  angel-nature  ripened  too  : 
We  thought  her  lovely  when  she  came, 

But  she  Avas  holy,  saintly  now  .  .  . 

Around  her  pale  angelic  brow 
We  saw  a  slender  ring  of  flame ! 

V. 

God's  hand  had  taken  away  the  seal 
That  held  the  portals  of  her  spcecli ; 

And  oft  she  said  a  few  strange  words 
Whose  meaning  lay  beyond  our  reach. 

She  never  was  a  child  to  us, 

We  never  lu^ld  her  l)einir's  kev  ; 


BABY   BELL.  95 

We  could  not  teach  her  holy  things : 
She  was  Christ's  self  in  purity. 

VI. 

It  came  upon  us  by  degrees, 

We  saw  its  shadow  ere  it  fell,  — 

The  knowledge  that  our  God  had  sent 

His  messenger  for  Baby  Bell. 

We  shuddered  with  unlanguaged  pain. 

And  all  our  hopes  were  changed  to  fears, 

And  all  our  thoughts  ran  into  tears 

Like  sunshine  into  rain. 

We  cried  aloud  in  our  belief, 

"  0,  smite  us  gently,  gently,  God ! 

Teach  us  to  bend  and  kiss  the  rod. 

And  perfect  grow  through  grief." 

Ah  1  liow  we  loved  her,   God  can  tell ; 

Her  heart  was  folded  deep  in  ours. 

Our  hearts  are  broken,  Baby  Bell ! 

VII. 

At  last  he  came,  the  messenger. 
The  messen<rer  from  unseen  lands  : 


96  BABY    BELL. 

And  what  did  dainty  Baby  Bell? 
She  only  crossed  her  little  hands, 
She  only  looked  more  meek  and  fair ! 
We  parted  back  lier  silken  hair, 
We  wove  the  roses  round  her  brow,  — 
White  buds,  the  summer's  drifted  snow, 
Wrapt  her  from  head  to  foot  in  flowers 
And  thus  went  dainty  Baby  Bell 
Out  of  this  world  of  ours ! 


PXSCATAQ,UA   EIVEE.  97 


PISCATAQUA  BIVER. 

T^HOU  singest  by  the  gleaming  isles, 

By  woods,  and  fields  of  corn, 
Thou  singest,  and  the  heaven  smiles 
Upon  my  birthday  mom. 

But  I  within  a  city,  I, 

So  full  of  vague  uiu'est, 
Would  almost  give  my  life  to  lie 

An  hour  upon  thy  breast ! 

To  let  the  wherry  listless  go, 

And,  wrapt  in  dreamy  joy, 
Dip,  and  surge  idly  to  and  fro, 

Like  the  red  harbor-buoy; 

To  sit  in  happy  indolence, 
To  rest  upon  the  oars. 


98  PISCATAQUA    RIVEE. 

And  catch  the  heavy  earthy  scents 
That  blow  from  summer  shores ; 

To  see  the  rounded  sun  go  down. 

And  with  its  parting  fires 
Light  up  the  windows  of  the  town 

And  bm'n  the  tapering  spires ; 

And  then  to  hear  the  muffled  tolls 
From  steeples  slim  and  white, 

And  watch,  among  the  Isles  of  Shoals, 
The  Beacon's  orange  light. 

0  River !  flowing  to  the  main 

Through  woods,  and  fields  of  com. 

Hear  thou  my  longing  and  my  pain 
This  smmy  birthday  mom ; 

And  take  this  song  which  sorrow  shapes 

To  music  like  thine  o^^^l, 
And  sing  it  to  the  cliffs  and  capes 

And  crags  where  I  am  known ! 


THE    TliAGEDY.  99 


THE  TEAGEDY. 


LA  DAME  AUX  CAMELIAS. 


T  A  Bame  aux  Camilias,  — 

I  think  that  was  the  play ; 
The  house  was  packed  from  pit  to  dome 

With  the  gallant  and  the  gay, 
Who  had  come  to  see  the  Tragedy, 

And  while  the  hours  away. 

There  was  the  ruined  Spendthrift, 

And  Beauty  in  her  prime ; 
There  was  the  grave  Historian, 

And  there  the  man  of  RhjTne, 
And  the  surly  Critic,  front  to  front, 

To  see  the  play  of  crime. 

And  there  was  pompous  Ignorance, 
And  Vice  in  flowers  and  lace; 


100  THE    TRAGEDY. 

Sir  Croesus  and  Sir  Pandarus, — 

And  the  music  played  apace. 
But  of  all  that  crowd  I  only  saw 

A  single,  single  face  ! 

That  of  a  girl  whom  I  had  knowTi 

In  the  summers  long  ago, 
When  her  breath  was  like  the  new-mown  hay, 

Or  the  sweetest  flowers  that  grow  ; 
When  her  heart  was  light,  and  her  soul  was  white 

As  tlie  winter's  driven  snow. 

And  there  she  sat  with  her  great  brown  eyes. 

They  wore  a  troulded  look  ; 
And  I  read  the  history  of  her  life 

As  it  were  an  open  book  ; 
And  saw  lier  Soid,  like  a  slimy  thing 

In  the  bottom  of  a  brook. 

There  she  sat  in  her  rustling  silk, 

Witli  diamonds  on  her  wrist, 
.\iid  on  her  brow  a  gleaming  thread 

Of  pearl  and  amethyst. 


THE    TRAGEDY.  101 

"  A  cheat,  a  gilded  grief !  "  I  said. 
And  my  eyes  were  filled  with  mist. 

I  could  not  see  the  players  play  : 

I  heard  the  music  moan ; 
It  moaned  like  a  dismal  autumn  wind, 

That  dies  in  the  woods  alone ; 
And  when  it  stopped  I  heard  it  still,  — 

The  mournful  monotone  ! 

What  if  the  Count  were  true  or  false? 

I  did  not  care,  not  I ; 
Wliat  if  Camille  for  Armand  died  ? 

I  did  not  sec  her  die. 
There  sat  a  woman  opposite 

With  piteous  lip  and  eye  ! 

The  great  green  curtain  fell  on  all. 

On  laugh,  and  wine,  and  woe, 
Just  as  death  some  day  will  fall 

'Twixt  us  and  life,  I  know ! 
The  play  was  done,  the  bitter  play, 

And  the  people  turned  to  go. 


102  THE    TRAGEDY. 

And  did  they  see  the  Tragedy  P 
They  saw  the  painted  scene ; 

They  saw  Armand,  the  jealous  fool, 
And  the  sick  Parisian  queen  : 

But  they  did  not  see  the  Tragedy, — 
The  one  I  saw,  I  mean ! 

They  did  not  see  that  cold-cut  face. 
That  fui'tivc  look  of  care  ; 

Or,  seeing  her  jewels,  only  said, 
"The  lady  's  rich  and  fair." 

But  I  tell  you,  't  was  the  Play  of  Life, 
And  that  woman  played  Despair  1 


HAUNTED.  103 


HAUNTED. 

A    NOISOME  mildewed  vine 
Crawls  to  the  rotting  eaves; 
The  gate  has  dropt  from  the  rusty  hinge, 
And  the  walks  are  stamped  Avith  leaves. 

Close  by  the  shattered  fence 

The  red-clay  road  runs  by 

To  a  haunted  wood,  where  the  hemlocts  groan 

And  the  willows  sob  and  sigh. 

Among  the  dank  lush  flowers 

The  spiteful  fire-fly  glows, 

And  a  woman  steals  by  the  stagnant  pond 

Wrapt  in  her  bmial  clothes. 

There  's  a  dark  blue  scar  on  her  throat, 
And  ever  she  makes  a  moan, 


104  HAUNTED. 

And  the  humid  lizards  shine  in  the  grass, 
And  the  lichens  weep  on  the  stone  ; 

And  the  Moon  shrinks  in  a  cloud, 
And  the  traveller  shakes  with  fear. 
And  an  Owl  on  the  skirts  of  the  wood 
Hoots,  and  says,  Do  you  hear  ? 

Go  not  there  at  night, 

For  a  spell  hangs  over  aU, — 

The  palsied  elms,  and  the  dismal  road, 

And  the  broken  garden-wall. 

0,  go  not  there  at  night, 
For  a  cnrse  is  on  the  place ; 
Go  not  there,  for  fear  you  meet 
The  Murdered  face  to  face  I 


PAMPINA.  1 05 


PAMPINA. 

T  YINGr  by  the  summer  sea 
I  had  a  dream  of  Italy. 

Chalky  cliiFs  and  miles  of  sand, 
Mossy  reefs  and  salty  caves, 
Then  the  sparkling  emerald  waves, 
Faded ;  and  I  seemed  to  stand, 
Myself  a  languid  Florentine, 
In  the  heart  of  that  fair  land. 
And  in  a  garden  cool  and  green, 
Boccaccio's  own  enchanted  place, 
I  met  Pampina  face  to  face,  — 
A  maid  so  lovely  that  to  see 
Her  smile  is  to  know  Italy  ! 
Her  hair  was  like  a  coronet 
Upon  her  Grecian  forehead  set, 
"Where  one  gem  glistened  sunnily 

5* 


106  PAMPINA. 

Like  Venice,  when  first  seen  at  sea. 

I  saw  within  her  violet  eyes 

The  starlight  of  Italian  skies, 

And  on  her  brow  and  breast  and  hand 

The  olive  of  her  native  land ! 

And,  knowing  how  in  other  times 

Her  lips  were  ripe  with  Tuscan  rhymes 

Of  love  and  wine  and  dance,  I  spread 

My  mantle  by  an  almond-tree, 

And  "  Here,  beneath  the  rose,"  I  said, 

"  I  '11  hear  thy  Tuscan  melody." 

I  heard  a  tale  that  was  not  told 

In  those  ten  dreamy  days  of  old, 

"When  Heaven,  for  some  di%nne  offence. 

Smote  Florence  with  the  pestilence  ; 

And  in  that  garden's  odorous  shade 

The  dames  of  the  Decameron, 

With  each  a  loyal  lover,  strayed. 

To  laugh  and  sing,  at  sorest  need. 

To  lie  in  the  lilies  in  the  sun 

"With  glint  of  plume  and  silver  brede  ! 

And  wliile  she  whispiTs  in  my  ear. 


PAMPINA.  107 

The  pleasant  Arno  murmurs  near, 
The  dewy,  slim  chameleons  run 
Through  twenty  colors  in  the  sun; 
The  breezes  blur  the  fountain's  glass, 
And  wake  ^Eolian  melodies, 
And  scatter  from  the  scented  trees 
The  lemon-blossoms  on  the  grass. 

The  tale  ?     I  have  forgot  the  tale,  — 
A  Lady  all  for  love  forlorn, 
A  rosebud,  and  a  nightingale 
That  bruised  his  bosom  on  the  thorn; 
A  jar  of  rubies  buried  deep, 
A  glen,  a  corpse,  a  child  asleep, 
A  Monk,  that  was  no  monk  at  all, 
In  the  moonlight  by  a  castle-wall. 

Now  while  the  large-eyed  Tuscan  wove 
The  gilded  thread  of  her  romance, — 
Which  I  have  lost  by  grievous  chance,  — 
The  one  dear  woman  tliat  I  love. 
Beside  me  in  our  seaside  nook. 
Closed  a  white  finger  in  her  book. 


108  PAMPINA. 

Half  vext  that  she  should  read,  and  weep 
For  Petrarch,  to  a  man  asleep  ! 
And  scorning  me,  so  tame  and  cold, 
She  rose,  and  wandered  down  the  shore, 
Her  wine-dark  drapery,  fold  in  fold, 
Imprisoned  by  an  ivory  hand ; 
And  on  a  ledge  of  granite,  half  in  sand. 
She  stood,  and  looked  at  Applcdore. 

And  waking,  I  beheld  her  there 

Sea-dreaming  in  the  motcd  air, 

A  siren  lithe  and  debonair, 

With  wristlets  woven  of  scarlet  weeds. 

And  oblong  lucent  amber  beads 

Of  sea-kelp  shining  in  her  hair. 

And  as  I  tlionght  of  dreams,  and  liow 

The  something  in  us  never  sleeps. 

But  laughs,  or  sings,  or  moans,  or  weeps, 

She  turned,  —  and  on  her  breast  and  brow 

I  saw  the  tint  that  seemed  not   won 

From  kisses  of  New  England   sun  ; 

T  saw  on  brow  and  breast  and  hand 

The  olive  of  a  suiniier  land  ! 


PAMPINA.  109 

She  turned,  —  and,  lo  !  within  her  eyes 
There  lay  the  starlight  of  Italian  skies. 

Most  dreams  are  dark,  beyond  the  range 

Of  reason ;  oft  we  cannot  teU 

If  they  are  born  of  heaven  or  heU  : 

But  to  my  soul  it  seems  not  strange 

That,  lying  by  the  summer  sea, 

With  that  dark  woman  watching  me, 

I  slept  and  dreamed  of  Italy  ! 


1  10  LAMIA. 


LAMIA. 


"  /^O  on  your  way, 
You  stop  a  wi 


and  let  me  pass, 
stop  a  wild  despair. 
I  would  that  I  were  turned  to  brass 
Like  that  chained  lion  there, 

"Wliich,  couehant  by  the  postern  gate, 

Li  weather  foul  or  fair, 
Looks  down  serenely  desolate. 

And  nothing  does  but  stare  ! 

"  Ah,  what 's  to  me  the  burgeoned  year. 

The  sad  leaf  or  tlie  gay  ? 
Let  Laiuieclot  and  Queen  Guinevere 

Tlieir  falrons  ily  this  day. 

"  'T  will  be  as  royal  sport,  pardie, 
As  faleoncrs  have  tried 


LAMIA.  Ill 

At  Astolat,  —  but  let  me  be ! 
I  would  that  I  had  died. 

"  I  met  a  woman  in  the  glade : 

Her  hair  was  soft  and  brown, 
And  long  bent  silken  lashes  weighed 

Her  ivory  eyelids  down. 

"  I  kissed  her  hand,  I  called  her  blest, 

I  held  her  leal  and  fair,  — 
She  turned  to  shadow  on  my  breast. 

And  melted  into  air ! 

"  And,  lo  !  about  me,  fold  on  fold, 

A  writhing  serpent  hung, — 
An  eye  of  jet,  a  skin  of  gold, 

A  garnet  for  a  tongue ! 

"  0,  let  the  petted  falcons  fly 

Eight  meiTy  in  the  sun  ; 
But  let  me  be  !  for  I  shall  die 

Before  the  year  is  done," 


11.2  INVOCATION    TO    SLEEP. 


INVOCATION  TO  SLEEP. 

I. 

'T'HEEE  is  a  rest  for  all  things.     On  still  nights 

There  is  a  folding  of  a  million  wings,  — 
The  swarming  honey-bees  in  unknown  Avoods, 
The  speckled  butterflies,  and  downy  broods 

In  dizzy  poplar  heights  : 
Rest  for  innumerable  nameless  things. 
Rest  for  the  creatures  xuidemeatli  the  Sea, 

And  in  the  Earth,  and  in  the  starry  Air  .  .   . 

Why  will  it  not  unburden  me  of  care  ? 

It  comes  to  meaner  things  tlian  my  despair. 
0  wear*-,  weary  night,  that  brings  no  rest  to  me ! 

II. 

Spirit  of  dreams  and  silvern  memories, 

Delicate  Sleep  ! 
One  who  is  sickening  of  his  tiresome  davs 


INVOCATION    TO    SLEEP.  113 

Brings  thee  a  soul  that  he  would  have  thee  keep 

A  captive  in  thy  mystical  domain. 

With  Puck  and  Ariel,  and  the  grotesque  train 

That  people  slumber.     Give  his  sight 

Immortal  shapes,  and  bring  to  him  again 

His  Psyche  that  went  out  into  the  night ! 

Vk  III. 

Thou  who  dost  hold  the  priceless  keys  of  rest, 
Strew  lotus-leaves  and  poppies  on  my  breast, 

And  bear  me  to  thy  castle  in  the  land 
Touched  with  all  colors  like  a  burning  west,  — 
The  Castle  of  Vision,  where  the  unchecked  thought 
Wanders  at  -^vill  upon  enchanted  ground, 

Making  no  sound 

In  all  the  corridors  .  .   . 
The  bell  sleeps  in  the  belfry,  —  from  its  tongue 
A  drowsy  murmur  floats  into  the  air. 
Like  thistle-down.     Slumber  is  everywhere. 
The  rook 's  asleep,  and,  in  its  dreaming,  caws ; 
And  silence  mopes  where  nightingales  have  sung  j 
The  Sirens  lie  in  grottos  cool  and  deep. 
The  Naiads  in  the  streams  : 

H 


114  INVOCATION    TO    SLEEP. 

But  I,  ill  chilling  twilight,  stand  and  wait 
At  the  portcullis,  at  thy  castle  gate, 
Yearning  to  sec  the  magic  door  of  dreams 
Turn  on  its  noiseless  hinges,  delicate  Sleep 


SEADKIFT.  115 


SEADRIPT. 

OEE  where  she  stands,  on  the  wet  sea-sands, 

Looking  across  the  water  : 
Wild  is  the  night,  but  wilder  still 
The  face  of  the  fisher's  daughter ! 

What  does  she  there,  in  the  lightning's  glare, 

What  does  she  there,  I  wonder  ? 
What  dread  demon  drags  her  forth 

In  the  night  and  wind  and  thunder  ? 

Is  it  the  ghost  that  haunts  this  coast  ?  — 

The  cniel  waves  mount  higher. 
And  the  beacon  pierces  the  stormy  dark 

With  its  javelin  of  fire. 

Beyond  the  light  of  the  beacon  bright 
A  merchantman  is  tacking ; 


116  SEADRIFT. 

The  hoarse  wind  whistling  through  the  shrouds, 
And  the  brittle  topmasts  cracking. 

The  sea  it  moans  over  dead  men's  bones, 

Tlic  sea  it  foams  in  anger ; 
The  curlews  swoop  through  the  resonant  air 

With  a  warning  cry  of  danger. 

The  star-fish  clings  to  the  sea-weed's  rings 
In  a  vague,  dumb  sense  of  peril ; 

And  the  spray,  with  its  phantom-fmgers,  grasps 
At  the  mullein  dry  and  sterile. 

O,  who  is  she  that  stands  by  the  sea, 
In  the  lightning's  ghire,  undaunted  ?  — 

Seems  this  now  like  the  coast  of  hell 
By  one  white  spirit  haunted  ! 

The  night  drags  by  ;  and  the  breakers  die 

Along  tlie  ragged  ledges  ; 
The  robin  stirs  in  its  drenched  nest, 

The  hawthorn  blooms  on  the  hedires. 


SEADKIFT.  117 

In  shimmering  lines,  through  the  dripping  pines, 

The  stealthy  morn  advances; 
And  the  heavy  sea-fog  straggles  back 

Before  those  bristling  lances ! 

4 

StiU  she  stands  on  the  wet  sea-sands ; 

The  morning  breaks  above  her. 
And  the  corpse  of  a  sailor  gleams  on  the  rocks,  — 

What  if  it  were  her  lover? 


118  THE   queen's   EIDE. 


THE    QUEEN'S    EEDE. 

AN  INVITATION. 

'HP  IS  that  fair  time  of  year, 

Lady  mine, 
When  stately  Guinevere, 
111  her  sea-green  robe  and  hood, 
Went  a-riding  through  the  wood, 

Lady  mine. 

And  as  the  Q\ieen  did  ride. 

Lady  mine. 
Sir  Launcclot  at  lier  side 
Laughed  and  eliatted,  bending  over, 
Half  her  friend  and  all  her  lover  ! 

Lady  mine. 

And  as  they  rode  along. 
Lady  mine, 


THE   queen's   KIDE.  119 

The  throstle  gave  them  song, 
And  the  buds  peeped  through  the  grass 
To  see  youth  and  beauty  pass ! 
Lady  mine. 

And  on,  through  deathless  time, 

Lady  mine, 
These  lovers  in  their  prime, 
(Two  fairy  ghosts  together !) 
Eide,  with  sea-green  robe,  and  feather ! 

Lady  mine. 

And  so  we  two  will  ride, 

Lady  mine. 
At  your  pleasure,  side  by  side. 
Laugh  and  chat ;  I  bending  over. 
Half  your  friend  and  aE  your  lover  ! 

Lady  mine. 

But  if  you  like  not  this. 

Lady  mine, 
And  take  my  love  amiss, 
Then  I  '11  ride  nnto  the  end, 


120  THE  queen's  ride. 

Half  your  lover,  aU  yoiir  friend  ! 
Lady  mine. 

So,  come  which  way  you  wiU, 

Lady  mine. 
Vale,  upland,  plain,  and  hiU 
Wait  your  coming.     For  one  day 
Loose  the  britlle,  and  away ! 

Lady  mine. 


IN    THE    OLD    CUUllCH   TOWEK.  121 


IN  THE   OLD   CHURCH  TOWEE. 

TN  the  old  chiirch  tower 

Hangs  the  bell  ; 
And  above  it  on  the  vane, 
In  the  sunshine  and  the  rain, 
Cut  in  gold,  St.  Peter  stands, 
With  the  keys  in  his  claspt  hands, 
And  aU  is  well. 

In  the  old  church  tower 

Hangs  the  bell ; 
You  can  hear  its  great  heart  beat, 
Ah  !  so  loud,  and  wild,  and  sweet. 
As  the  parson  says  a  prayer 
Over  wedded  lovers  there. 

And  all  is  well. 

In  the  old  church  tower 
Hangs  the  bell ; 


122         IN  THE  OLD  CHURCH  TOWEE. 

Deep  and  solemn,  hark !  again. 
Ah,  what  passion  and  what  pain  ! 
With  her  hands  upon  her  breast, 
Some  poor  Soul  has  gone  to  rest 
Where  all  is  well. 

In  the  old  church  tower 

Hangs  the  bell,  — 
An  old  friend  that  seems  to  know 
All  our  joy  and  all  our  woe  ; 
It  is  glad  when  we  are  wed, 
It  is  sad  when  we  are  dead, 

And  all  is  well ! 


THE    METEMPSYCHOSIS.  123 


THE  METEMPSYCHOSIS. 

\  BOVE  the  petty  passions  of  the  crowd 
I  stand  in  frozen  marble  like  a  god, 
Inviolate,  and  ancient  as  the  moon. 
The  thing  I  am,  and  not  the  thing  Man  is. 
Fills  my  deep  dreaming.     Let  him  moan  and  die; 
For  he  is  dust  that  shall  be  laid  again  : 
I  know  my  own  creation  was  divine. 
Strewn  on  the  breezy  continents  I  see 
The  veined  shells  and  bimiished  scales  which  once 
Enclosed  my  being,  —  busies  that  had  their  use ; 
I  brood  on  all  the  shapes  I  must  attain 
Before  I  reach  the  Perfect,  which  is  God, 
And  dream  my  dream,  and  let  the  rabble  go  ; 
For  I  am  of  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
The  deserts,  and  the  caverns  in  the  earth, 
The  catacombs  and  fragments  of  old  worlds. 

I  was  a  spirit  on  tlic  mountain-tops, 
A  perfume  in  the  valleys,  a  simoom 


12-i  THE    METEMPSYCHOSIS. 

On  arid  deserts,  a  nomadic  wind 
Eoaming  the  universe,  a  tireless  Voice. 
I  was  ere  Romulus  and  Remus  were ; 
I  was  ere  Nineveh  and  Babylon  ; 
I  was,  and  am,  and  evermore  shall  be, 
Progressing,  never  reaching  to  the  end. 

A  hundred  years  I  trembled  in  the  grass. 
The  delicate  trefoil  that  mutlled  warm 
A  slope  on  Ida  ;  for  a  hundred  years 
Moved  in  the  purple  gyre  of  those  (hirk  flowers 
The  Grecian  women  strew  upon  the  dead. 
Under  the  earth,  in  fragrant  glooms,   I  dwelt  ; 
Then  in  the  veins  and  sinews  of  a  pine 
On  a  lone  isle,  Avhere,  from  the  Cyclades, 
A  mighty  wind,  like  a  leviathan, 
Ploughed  through  the  brine,  and  from  those  solitudes 
Sent   Silence,  friglitened.     To  and  fro   I  swayed, 
Drawing  the  sunsliine  from  the  stooping  clouds. 
Suns  came  and  went,  and   many  a  mystic  moon, 
Orbing  and  waning,  and  fierce  meteors, 
Leaving  their  lurid  gliosts  to  haunt  tlie  niglit. 
I  heard  loud  voices  by  the  sounding  shore. 
The  stormy  sea-gods,  and  from  fluted  conclis 


THE   METEMPSYCHOSIS.  125 

Wild  music,  and  strange  shadows  floated  by, 
Some  moaning  and  some  singing.     So  the  years 
Clustered  about  me,  till  the  hand  of  God 
Let  down  the  lightning  from  a  sultry  sky, 
Splintf!red  the  pine  and  split  the  iron  rock ; 
And  from  my  odorous  prison-house  a  bird, 
I  in  its  bosom,  darted  :  so  we  fled. 
Turning  the  brittle  edge  of  one  high  wave, 
Island  and  tree  and  sea-gods  left  behind  ! 

Pree  as  the  air  from  zone  to  zone  I  flew, 
Tar  from  the  tumult  to  the  quiet  gates 
Of  daybreak ;  and  beneath  me  I  beheld 
Vineyards,  and  rivers  that  like  silver  threads 
Kan  through  the  green  and  gold  of  pasture-lands. 
And  here  and  there  a  hamlet,  a  Avhite  rose, 
And  here  and  there  a  city,  whose  slim  spires 
And  palace-roofs  and  swollen  domes  Tiprose 
Like  scintillant  stalagmites  in  the  sun; 
I  saw  huge  navies  battling  with  a  storm 
By  ragged  reefs  along  the  desolate  coasts, 
And  lazy  merchantmen,  that  crawled,  like  flies. 
Over  the  blue  enamel  of  the  sea 
To  India  or  the  icy  Labradors. 


12G  THE    METEMPSYCHOSIS. 

A  century  was  as  a  single  day. 
What  is  a  day  to  an  immortal  soul  ? 
A  brcatli,  no  more.     And  yet  I  hold  one  hour 
Beyond  all  price,  —  that  hour  when  from  the  sky 
I  circled  near  and  nearer  to  the  earth, 
Nearer  and  nearer,  till  I  brushed  my  wings 
Against  the  pointed  chestnuts,  where  a  stream, 
Tliat  foamed  and  cliatten'd  over  pebbly   shoals, 
Fled  through  tlie  briony,  and  with  a  shout 
Leapt  headlong  down  a  precipice ;  and  tliere, 
Gatliering  wild-flowers  in  the  cool  ravine, 
"Wandered  a  woman  more  divinc.'ly  shaped 
Tlian  any  of  tlie  creatures  of  tl\e  air. 
Or  river-goddesses,  or  restless  shadi.'s 
Of  noble  matrons  marvellous  in  their  time 
For  beauty  and  great  suffering  ;   and  I  sung, 
I  cliarmcd  lier  thought,  I  gave  her  (b'caiiis.  and  tlu'U 
Down  from  the  (h'wy  atmospliere  I   stole 
And  )iest]ed   in  licr  bosom.     Tlicre   1   slept 
From  moon  to  moon,  while  in  her  eyes  a  tliouglit 
Grew  sweet  and  sweeter,  deepening  like  tlie  (hiwn, — 
A  mystical  forewariung !     When  the  stream, 
Breakinir  tlironixh  leafless  brand)les  and  dead  leaves, 


THE    METEM-PSYCIIOSIS.  127 

Piped  shriller  treble,  and  from  chestnut  boughs 
The  fruit  dropt  noiseless  through  the  autumn  night, 
I  gave  a  quick,  low  cry,  as  infants  do  : 
We  weep  when  we  are  bom,  not  when  we  die ! 
So  was  it  destined;  and  thus  came  I  here, 
To  walk  the  earth  and  wear  the  form  of  Man, 
To  suffer  bravely  as  becomes  my  state, 
One  step,  one  grade,  one  cycle  nearer  God. 

And  knowing  these  things,  can  I  stoop  to  fret. 
And  lie,  and  haggle  in  the  market-place. 
Give  dross  for  dross,  or  everything  for  naught  ? 
No !  let  me  sit  above  the  crowd,  and  sing. 
Waiting  with  hope  for  that  miraculous  change 
Which  seems  like  sleep  ;  and  though  I  waiting  starve, 
I  cannot  kiss  the  idols  that  are  set 
By  every  gate,  in  every  street  and  park  ; 
I  cannot  fawn,  I  cannot  soil  my  soul ; 
For  I  am  of  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 
The  deserts,  and  the  caverns  in  the  earth, 
The  catacombs  and  fragments  of  old  worlds. 


V. 

JUDITH 


6* 


JUDITH. 


I. 


JUDITH  IN  THE  TOWEB. 

"VTOW  Holofcrnes  with  his  barbarous  hordes 

Crost  the  Euphrates,  laying  waste  the  land 
To  Esdraelon,  and,  falling  on  the  town 
Of  Bethulia,  stormed  it  night  and  day 
Incessant,  till  within  the  leaguercd  walls 
The  boldest  captains  faltered ;  for  at  length 
The  wells  gave  out,  and  then  the  barley  failed, 
And  Famine,  like  a  murderer  masked  and  cloaked, 
Stole  in  among  the  garrison.     The  air 
Was  tilled  with  lamentation,  women's  moans 
And  cries  of  children ;  and  at  night  there  came 
A  fever,  parching  as  a  fierce  simoom. 
Yet  Holofernes  could  not  batter  down 


132  JUDITH. 

The  brazen  gates,  nor  make  a  single  breach 
With  beam  or  catapult  in  those  tough  walls  : 
And  white  with  rage  among  the  tents  he  strode, 
Among  the  squalid  Tartar  tents  he  strode, 
And  curst  the  gods  that  gave  him  not  his  will, 
And  curst  his  captains,  curst  himself,  and  all ; 
Then,  seeing  in  what  strait  the  city  was. 
Withdrew  his  men  hard  by  the  fated  town 
Amid  the  hills,  and  with  a  grim-set  smile 
Waited,  aloof,  until  the  place  should  fall. 
All  day  the  house-tops  lay  iu  sweltering  heat ; 
All  night  the  wateh-lircs  flared  upon  the  towers; 
And  day  and  night  with  Israelitish   spears 
The  ramparts  bristled. 

In  a  tall  square  Tower, 
Full-fronting  on  the  vile  Assyrian  eamp, 
Sat  Judith,  pallid  as  the  cloudy  moon 
That  liung  half-faded  in  the  dreary  sky; 
And  ever  and  anon  she  turned  lier  eyes 
To  wlu'rc,  between  two  vapor-luinnted   hills, 
The  dreadful  anny  like  a  caldron  f^eethed. 
She  heard,  far  off,  the  camels'  gurgling  groan, 


JUDITH.  133 

The  clank  of  arms,  the  stir  and  buzz  of  camps ; 
Beheld  the  camp-fires,  flaming  fiends  of  night 
That  leapt,  and  with  red  hands  clutched  at  the  dark ; 
And  now  and  then,  as  some  mailed  warrior  stalked 
Athwart  the  fires,  she  saw  his  armor  gleam. 
Beneath  her  stretched  the  temples  and  the  tombs, 
The  city  sickening  of  its  own  thick  breath. 
And  over  all  the  sleepless  Pleiades. 

A  star-like  face,  with  floating  clouds  of  hair,  — 
Merari's  daughter,  dead  Manasses'  Avife, 
Who  (since  the  barley-harvest  when  he  died). 
By  holy  charities,  and  prayers,  and  fasts, 
Walked  with  the  angels  in  her  widow's  weeds. 
And  kept  her  pure  in  honor  of  the  dead. 
But  dearer  to  her  bosom  than  the  dead 
Was  Israel,  its  Prophets  and  its  God  : 
And  that  dread  midnight,  in  the  Tower  alone. 
Believing  He  would  hear  her  from  afar, 
She  lifted  up  the  voices  of  her  soul 
Above  the  wrangling  voices  of  the  world  : 

"  Oil,  are  we  not  Thy  children  wlio  of  old 


184  JUDITH. 

Trod  the  Clialdean  idols  in  the  dust, 
And  built  our  altars  only  unto  Thee? 

Didst  Thou  not  lead  us  unto  Canaan 
For  love  of  us,  because  we  spumed  the  gods  ? 
Didst  Thou  not  bless  us  that  we  worshipped  Thee? 

And  when  a  famine  covered  all  the  land. 
And  drove  us  unto  Egypt,  where  the  King 
Did  persecute  Thy  chosen  to  the  death,  — 

Didst  Thou  not  smite  the  swart  Egj-ptians  then. 
And  guide  us  through  the  bowels  of  the  deep 
That  swallowed  up  their  horsemen  and  their  King  ? 

For  saw  we  not,  as  in  a  wondrous  dream, 
The  up-tost  javelins,  the  plunging  steeds, 
The  chariots  sinking  in  the  wild  E.ed  Sea  ? 

O  Lord,  Thou  hast  been  with  us  in  our  Avoe, 
And  from  Thy  bosom  Thou  hast  cast  us  forth. 
And  to  Thy  bosom  taken  us  again : 

For  we  have  built  our  temples  in  the  hills 
By  Sinai,  and  on  Jordan's  flowery  banks. 
And  in  Jerusalem  we  worship  Thee. 

0  Lord,  look  down  and  help  us.     Stretch  Thy  hand 
And  free  Thy  people.     ^Lake  us  pure  in  faith, 
And  draw  us  nearer,  nearer  unto  Thee." 


JUDITH.  135 

As  when  a  harp-string  trembles  at  a  touch. 
And  music  runs  through  all  its  quivering  length, 
And  does  not  die,  but  seems  to  float  away, 
A  silvery  mist  uprising  from  the  string,  — 
So  Judith's  prayer  rose  tremulous  in  the  night, 
A  lid  floated  upward  unto  other  spheres ; 
And  Judith  loosed  the  hair  about  her  bi'ows, 
Autl  bent  her  head,  and  Avept  for  Israel. 

Now  while  she  wept,  bowed  like  a  lotus-flower 
That  watches  its  own  shadow  in  the  Nile, 
A  stillness  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  land, 
As  if  from  out  the  calyx  of  a  cloud, 
That  blossomed  suddenly  'twixt  the  earth  and  moon. 
It  fell,  —  and  presently  there  came  a  sound 
Of  many  pinions  rustling  in  the  dark, 
And  voices  mingling,  far  and  near,  and  strange 
As  sea-soimds  on  some  melancholy  coast 
When  first  the  equinox  unchains  the  Storm. 
And  Judith  started,  and  Avith  one  quick  luiiid 
Brushed  back  the  plenteous  tresses  from  a  check 
That  whitened  like  a  lily,  and  so  stood, 
Nor  breathed,  nor  moved,  but  listened  with  her  soul ; 


136  JUDITH. 

And  at  her  side,  invisible,  there  leaned 

An  Angel  mantled  in  his  folded  "Nvings, — 

To  her  invisible,  but  other  eyes 

Beheld  the  saintly  eoiintenance ;  for,  lo  ! 

Great  clouds  of  spirits  swoopt  about  the  Tower 

And  drifted  in  tlic  eddies  of  the  wind. 

The  Angel  stoopt,  and  from  his  radiant  brow, 

And  from  the  gleaming  amaranth  in  his  hair, 

A  splendor  fell  on  Judith,  and  she  grew. 

From  her  black  tresses  to  her  arched  feet. 

Fairer  than  morning  in  Arabia. 

Then  silently  the  Presence  spread  his  vans. 

And  rose, — a  luminous  shadow  in  the  air, — 

And  through  tlie  zodiac,  a  Avliite  star,  shot. 

As  one  that  wakens   from  a  trance,  slu'  turned. 
And  lioard  the  twiliglit  twitterings  of  birds, 
Th(;  wind    in   the  turret,   and   from   far  below 
Camp-sounds  of  pawing  hoof  and   clinking   steel; 
And   in   the   East   she   saw  the   early   dawn 
I'rcaking  the  night's   enchantment  ;   saw  the  ]\roon. 
Like  some  wan   sorceress,   vanish    in  mid-lieaven, 
Leavincr  a  moth-like  •rlimnuT  where  she  died. 


JUDITH.  137 

And  Judith  rose,  and  down  the  spiral  stairs 
Descended  to  the  garden  of  the  Tower, 
Where,  at  the  gate,  lounged  Achior,  lately  fled 
From  Holofernes  ;  as  she  past  she  spoke  : 
"The  Lord  be  with  thee,  Achior,  all  thy  days." 
And  Achior  saw  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord 
Had  been  with  her,  and,  in  a  single  night, 
Worked  such  a  miracle  of  form  and  face 
As  left  her  lovelier  than  all  womankind 
Who  was  before  the  fiiirest  in  Judaea. 
But  she,  unconscious  of  God's  miracle, 
Moved  swiftly  on  among  a  frozen  group 
Of  statues  tliat  with  empty,  slim-necked  urns 
Taunted  the  thirsty  Seneschal,  until 
She  came  to  where,  beneath  the  spreading  palms, 
Sat  Chabris  with  Ozias  and  his  friend 
Charniis,  governors  of  the  leaguered  town. 
They  saw  a  glory  shining  on  her  face 
Like  daybreak,  and  tlu^y  marvelled  as  she  stood 
Bending  before  them  with  humility. 
And  wTinkled  Charmis  murmured  through  his  beard : 

"  This  woman  walketh  in  the  smile  of  God." 


138  JUDITH. 

"  So  walk  we  all,"  spoke  Judith,     "  Evermore 
His  light  envelops  us,  and  only  those 
Who  turn  aside  their  faces  droop  and  die 
In  utter  midnight.     If  we  faint  we  die. 
0,  is  it  true,  Ozias,  thou  hast  sworn 
To  yield  our  people  to  their  enemies 
After  five  days,  unless  the  Lord  shall  stoop 
From  heaven  to  help  us?" 

And  Ozias  said  : 
"  Our  young  men  die  upon  the  battlements  ; 
Our  wives  and  children  by  the  empty  tanks 
Lie  down  and  perish." 

"  If  we  faint  Ave  die. 
The  weak  heart  builds  its  palace  on  the  sand, 
The  flood-tide  eats  the  palace  of  a  fool : 
But  whoso  trusts  in  God,  as  Jacob  did, 
Though  suffering  greatly  even  to  the  end, 
Dwells  in  a  citadel  upon  a  rock 
That  wind  nor  wave  nor  fire  shall  topple  down." 

"  Our  young  men  die  upon  the  battlements," 


JUDITH.  139 

Answered  Ozias;  "by  the  dusty  wells 
Our  wives  and  children." 

"  They  shall  go  and  dwell 
With  Seers  and  Prophets  in  eternal  joy ! 
Is  there  no  God?" 

"  One  only,"  Chabris  spoke, 
"  But  now  His  face  is  darkened  in  a  cloud. 
He  sees  not  Israel." 

"Is  His  mercy  less 
Than  Holofemes'?     Shall  we  place  our  faith 
In  this  fierce  bull  of  Assiu-  ?  are  we  mad 
That  we  so  tear  our  throats  Avith  our  own  hands  ?  " 
And  Judith's  eyes  flashed  battle  on  the  three, 
Though  aU  the  woman  quivered  at  her  lip 
Struggling  with  tears. 

"In  God  we  place  our  trust," 
Said  old  Ozias,  "  yet  for  five  days  more." 

"  Ah  !  His  time  is  not  man's  time,"  Judith  cried, 


140  JUDITH. 

"  And  why  sliould  Ave,  the  dust  about  His  feet. 

Decide  the  hour  of  our  deliverance, 

Saying  to  Him,  Thus  shall  Thou  do,  and  so  ?  " 

Then  gray  Ozias  bowed  liis  head,  abashed 
That  eighty  winters  liad  not  made  him  wise, 
For  all  the  drifted  snow  of  his  long  beard : 
"  This  woman  speaketh  wisely.     We  were  wrong 
That  in  our  anguish  mocked  the  Lord  our  God, 
The  staff,  the  scrip,  the  stream  whereat  we  drink." 
And  then  to  Judith :  "  Child,  Avhat  wouldst  thou  have?  " 

"  I  know  and  know  not.     Something  I  know  not 
Makes  music  in  my  bosom ;  as  I  move 
A  presence  goes  before  me,  and  1  hear 
New  voices  mingling  in  the  upper  air ; 
"Within  my  hand  there  seems  another  hand 
Close-prest,   that  leads  me  to  yon  dreadful  camp; 
"Wliilu  in  my  brain  the  fragments  of  a  dream 
Lie  like  a  broken  string  of  diamonds, 
The  choicest  missing.     Ask  no  more.     I  know 

And  know  not See !  the  very  air  is  white 

With  fingers  pointing.     Where  they  point  I  go." 


JUDITH.  141 

She  spoke  and  paused :  the  three  old  men  looked  up 
And  saw  a  sudden  motion  in  the  air 
Of  white  hands  waving ;  and  they  dared  not  speak, 
But  muffled  their  thiu  faces  in  their  robes, 
And  sat  like  those  grim  statues  which  the  wind 
Near  some  unpeopled  city  in  the  East 
From  foot  to  forehead  wraps  in  desert  dust. 

"  Ere  thrice  the  shadow  of  the  temple  slants 
Across  the  fountain,  I  shall  come  again." 
Thus  Judith  softly  :  then  a  gleam  of  light 
Played  through  the  silken  lashes  of  her  eyes. 
As  lightning  througli  the  purple  of  a  cloud 
On  some  still  tropic  evening,  when  the  breeze 
Lifts  not  a  single  blossom  from  the  bough  : 
"  Wliat  lies  in  that  unfolded  flower  of  time 
No  man  may  know.     The  thing  I  can  I  will. 
Leaning  on  God,  remembering  how  He  loved 
Jacob  in  Syria  when  he  fed  the  flocks 
Of  Laban,  and  what  miracles  He  did 
Eor  Abraham  and  for  Isaac  at  their  need. 
Wait  thou  the  end;  and,  till  I  come,  keep  thou 
The  sanctuaries."     And  Ozias  swore 


142  JUDITH. 

By  those  weird  fingers  pointing  in  the  air, 
And  by  the  soul  of  Abraham  gone  to  rest, 
To  keep  the  sanctuaries,  though  she  came 
And  found  the  bat  sole  tenant  of  the  Tower, 
And  all  the  people  bleaching  on  the  walls, 
And  no  voice  left.     Then  Judith  moved  away, 
Her  head  bowed  on  her  bosom,  like  to  one 
That  moulds  some  subtle  purpose  in  a  dream, 
And  in  his  passion  rises  up  and  walks 
Through  labyrinths  of  slumber  to  the  dawn. 

"\^nicn  she  had  gained  her  chamber  she  threw  off 
The  livery  of  soitow  for  her  lord, 
The  crael  sackcloth  that  begirt  lier  limbs. 
And  from  those  ashen  colors  issuing  forth. 
Seemed  like  a  golden  butterfly  ncw-slipt 
From  its  dull  chrA'salis.     Then,  after  bath, 
She  braided  in  tlie  darkness  of  her  hair 
A  tliread  of  opals  ;  on  her  rounded  breast 
Spilt  precious  ointment ;  and  put  on  the  robes 
Whose  rustling  made  her  pause,  half-garmented, 
To  dream  a  moment  of  her  bridal  morn. 
Of  snow-white  samite  were  the  robes,  and  rich 


JUDITH.  143 

With  delicate  branch-work,  silver-frosted  star. 
And  many  a  broidered  lily-bf-the-vale. 
These  things  became  her  as  the  scent  the  rose, 
Por  fairest  things  are  beauty's  natural  dower. 
The  sun  that  through  the  jealous  casement  stole 
Fawned  on  the  Hebrew  woman  as  she  stood. 
Toyed  with  the  oval  pendant  at  her  ear. 
And,  like  a  lover,  stealing  to  her  lips 
Taught  them  a  deeper  crimson ;  then  slipt  down 
The  tremulous  lilies  to  the  sandal  straps 
That  bound  her  sno'wy  ankles. 

Forth  she  went, 
A  glittering  wonder,  through  the  crowded  streets, 
Her  handmaid,  like  a  shadow,  following  on. 
And  as  in  summer  when  the  beaded  wheat 
Leans  all  one  way,  and  with  a  longing  look 
Marks  the  quick  convolutions  of  the  wind. 
So  all  eyes  went  with  Judith  as  she   moved. 
All  hearts  leaned  to  her  A\atli  a  weight  of  love. 
A  starving  woman  lifted  ghostly  hands 
And  blest  her  for  old  charities ;  a  child 
Smiled  on  her  through  its  tears;  and  one  gaunt  chief 


144  JUDITH. 

Threw  down  his  battle-axe  and  doffed  his  helm, 
As  if  some  bright  Immortal  swept  him  by. 

So  forth  she  fared,  the  only  thing  of  light 
In  that  dark  city,  thridding  tortnous  ways 
l^y  glf)oniy  arch  and  frowning  barbacan, 
Until  she  reached  a  gate  of  triple  brass 
That  opened  at  her  coming,  and  swnng  to 
With  horrid  clangor  and  a  ring  of  bolts. 
And  there,  outside  the  city  of  her  love, 
Tlie  Avarm  blood  at  her  pulses,  Judith  paused 
And  drank  the  morning ;  then  with  silent  prayers 
Moved  on  through  flakes  of  smdight,  through  the  wood 
To  Holofernes  and  his  barbarous  hordes. 


JUDITH.  145 


n. 


THE  CAMP  OF  ASSUR. 

A  S  on  the  house-tops  of  a  seaport  town, 
■*■       After  a  storm  has  lashed  the  dangerous  coast, 
The  people  crowd  to  watch  some  hopeless  ship 
Tearing  its  heart  upon  the  unseen  reef, 
And  strain  their  sight  to  catch  the  tattered  sail 
That  comes  and  goes,  and  glimmers,  till  at  length 
No  eye  can  find  it,  and  a  sudden  awe 
Falls  on  the  people,  and  no  soul  may  speak : 
So,  from  the  windy  parapets  and  roofs 
Of  the  embattled  city,  anxious  groups 
Watched  the  faint  flutter  of  a  woman's  dress,  — 
Judith,  who,  toiling  up  a  distant  hiU, 
Seemed  but  a  speck  against  the  sunny  green  ; 
Yet  ever  as  the  wind  drew  back  her  robes. 
They  saw  her  from  tlie  towers,  until  she  reached 
Tlie  crest,  and  past  into  tlie  azure  sky. 
Then,  each  one  gazing  on  his  neighbor's  face, 
Speechless,  descended  to  the  level  world. 


146  JUDITH. 

Before  his  tent,  stretched  on  a  leopard-skin, 
Lay  Holofcrnes,  ringed  by  his  dark  lords, — 
Himself  the  prince  of  darkness.     At  his  side 
His  iron  helmet  poured  upon  the  grass 
Its  plume  of  horsehair ;  on  his  ponderous  spear. 
The  tliuty  barb  thrust  half  its  length  in  earth, 
As  if  some  giant  had  Hung  it,  hung  his  shield. 
And  on  the  burnished  circuit  of  tlie  shield 
A  sinewy  dragon,  rampant,  silver-fangcd, 
Glared  horrible  with  sea-green  emerald  eyes ; 
And,  as  the  sunshine  struck  across  it,  writhed. 
And  seemed  a  type  of  those  impatient  lords 
Who,  in  tlie  loud  war-council  here  convened, 
Gave  voice  for  battle,  and  with  fiery  words 
Opposed  the  cautious  wisdom  of  their  peers. 
So  seemed  the  restless  dragon  on  the  shield. 

Baleful  and   sullen  as  a  sulphurous  cloud 
Packed  with  the  lightning,  Holofernes  lay, 
Brooding  upon  tlie  diverse  arguments, 
Himself  not  arguing,  but  listening  most 
To  th(>  curt  phrases  of  the  snow-haired  chiefs. 
And  some  said  :  "  Take  the  city  by  assault, 


JUDITH.  147 

And  ^nd  it  into  atoms  at  a  blow." 

And  some  said  :  "  Wait.     There  's  that  within  the  walls 

Shall  gnaw  its  heart  out,  —  hunger.     Let  us  wait." 

To  Avhirli  the  younger  chieftains :  "  If  we  wait, 

Ourselves  sluUl  starve.     Like  locusts  we  have  fed 

Upon  tlic  land  till  there  is  nothing  left, 

Nor  grass,  nor  grain,  nor  any  living  thing. 

And  if  at  last  we  take  a  famished  town 

With  fifty  thousand  ragged  skeletons, 

What  boots  it?     We  shall  hunger  all  the  same.         * 

Now,  by  great  Baiil,  we  'd  rather  die  at  once 

Than  languish,  scorching,  on  these  sun-baked  hills !  " 

At  wliicli  the  others  called  them  "  fretful  girls," 

And  scollVd  at  them  :  "  Ye  should  have  stayed  at  home, 

And  decked  your  hair  with  sininy  butterflies, 

Like  King  Arphaxad's  harlots.      Know  ye  not 

Patience  and  valor  are  the  head  and  licart 

Of  warriors  ?     Who  lacks  in  eitlicr,  fails. 

Have  wc  not  hammered  witli  our  catapults 

Those  stubborn  gates?     Have  we  not  hurled  our   men 

xVgainst  the  angry  torrent  of  their  spears  ? 

]\rurk  how  those  birds  that  wliccl  above  yon  wood, 

Li  clanging  colunnis,  settle  greedily  down 


148  JUDITH. 

Upon  the  unearthed  bodies  of  our  dead. 

See  where  they  rise,  red-beaked  and  surfeited  ! 

Has  it  availed?     Let  us  be  patient,  then, 

And  bide  the  sovran  pleasure  of  the  f^^ods." 

"  And  when,"  quoth  one,  "  our  stores  of  meat  are  gone, 

We  '11  even  feed  upon  the  tender  flesh 

Of  these  tame  girls,  who,  though  tlu'V  dress  in  steel, 

Like  more  the  dulcet  tremors  of  a  lute 

Than  the  shrill  whistle  of  an  arrow-head." 

At  this  a  score  of  falchions  leapt  in  air, 
And  hot-breathed  words  took  flight  from  bearded  lips, 
And  they  liad  slain  each  otlu'r  in  their  licat, 
Tiiese  savage  captains,  quick  with  l)o\v  and  spear, 
P)Ut   that  dark  Ilolofcriics  started   np 
To  his  full  height,  and,   speaking  not   a  word, 
AVitli   niigcr-knittcd    forehead  glared   at   them. 
As  il'ey   shrunk  liack,  their  passion  and   their  shame 
G;ivc   pluec   to   wonder,  niidiiii;   in   their  midst 
.\    \v;)iii;in   whose   exceediiiir   radiaiUM' 
or  !);-()\v  ;uid   bosom   made  her  iranneuts   seem 
Tlire:;dl)are  and   lu-treless,   yet    wlio-e  attire 

t  )i;;-;iie,r    the     purples    (if    ;i     I'er-iail     (|Ueen. 


JUDITH.  149 

For  Judith,  who  knew  all  the  mountain  paths 
As  one  may  know  the  delicate  azure  veins, 
Each  crossing  each,  on  his  beloved's  wrist, 
Had  stolen  between  the  archers  in  the  wood 
And  gained  the  straggling  outskirts  of  the  camp, 
And  seeing  the  haughty  gestures  of  the  chiefs. 
Halted,  with  fear,  and  knew  not  where  to  turn; 
Then  taking  heart,  had  silently  approached. 
And  stood  among  them,  until  then  unseen. 
And  in  the  air,  like  numerous  swaniis  of  bees, 
Arose  the  wondering  murmurs  of  the  throng. 
Which  checking,  Holofcrncs  turned  and  cried, 
"  Who  breaks  upon  our  coimcils  ?  "  angrily. 
But  drinking  tlien  the  beauty  of  her  eyes. 
And  seeing  the  rosy  magic  of  her  mouth. 
And  all  the  fragrant  summer  of  her  hair 
Elowu  sweetly  round  her  forehead,  stood  amazed ; 
And  in  the  liglit  of  her  pure  modesty 
His  voice  took  gentler  accent  unawares  : 
"  Whence  come  ye  ?  " 

"From  yon  city." 

"  l\v  our  life, 
W,-   ;li(;iii-lit   flic  phanloiii   of  soiin.'   niurdcvi'd   qiU'Cii 


150  JUDITH. 

Had  risen  from  dead  summers  at  our  feet ! 
If  these  Juda3au  women  are  so  shaped. 
Daughters  of  goddesses,  let  none  be  slain. 
What  seek  ye,  woman,  in  the  hostile  camps 
Of  Assur  ?  " 

"  Holofernes." 

"  This  is  he." 

"  0  good  my  lord,"  cried  Judith,  "  if  indeed 
That  art  that  Holofernes  whom  I  seek, 
And  seeking  dread  to  find,  low  at  thy  feet 
Behold  tliy  handmaid,  who  in  fear  has  flown 
From  a  doomed  people." 

"  Wherein  thou  Avert  wise 
Beyond  tiie  usual  measure  of  thy  sex, 
And  sluilt  have  such  obscn'ance  as  a  king 
Gives  to  liis  mistress,   thougli   our  enemy. 
As   for  thy   peoj)l(',   tliey   shall   rue   the  honr 
That  bronglit  not  tribute  to  the  lord   of  all, 
Xabuchodouosor.      B\it  thou  shalt    live." 

"0  good  my  lord,"  thus  .Judith,   "as  thou  Avilt, 
So  would   thy  handmaid  ;   and    I  pray  thci;  now 


JUDITH.  151 

Let  those  that  listen  stand  awhile  aloof. 

For  I  have  that  for  thine  especial  ear 

Most  precious  to  thee."     Then  the  crowd  feU  back, 

Muttering,  and  half  reluctantly,  because 

Her  beauty  drew  them  as  the  moon  the  sea,  — 

Fell  back  and  lingered,  leaning  on  their  shields 

Under  the  trees,  some  couchant  in  the  grass, 

Broad-tliroated,  large-lunged  Titans  overthrown. 

Eying  the  Hebrew  woman,  whose  sweet  looks 

Brought  them  a  sudden  vision  of  their  wives 

And  longings  for  them  :  and  her  presence  there 

Was  as  a  spring  that,  in  Sahara's  wastes. 

Taking  the  thirsty  traveller  by  sm-prise, 

Loosens  its  silver  music  at  his  feet. 

Thus  Judith,  modest,  with  down-drooping  ej'es  : 

"  ]\Iy  lord,  if  yet  thou  boldest  in  thy  thought 
The  words  which  Achior  the  Ammonite 
Ouce  spake  to  thee  concerning  Israel, 
0  treasure  them,  for  in  tliem  was  no  giiilc. 
True  is  it,  master,  that  our  people  kneel 
To  an  unseen  but  not  an  unknown  God  : 
T>y  clay  and  night  He  watches  over  us, 


152  JUDITH. 

And  while  we  worship  Him  we  cannot  die, 

Our  tabernacles  shall  be  unprofaned. 

Our  spears  invincible ;  but  if  we  sin. 

If  we  transgress  the  law  by  which  we  live, 

Oui*  temples  shall  be  desecrate,  our  tribes 

Thrust  forth  into  the  howling  wilderness, 

Scoui^ed  and  accui'sed.     Therefore,  O  my  lord. 

Seeing  this  nation  wander  from  the  faith 

Taught  of  the  Prophets,  I  have  fled  dismayed, 

For  fear  the  towci-s  might  cnish  me  as  they  fall. 

Heed,  Holofernes,  Avhat  I  speak  tliis  day, 

And  if  the  thing  I  tell  thee  prove  not  true 

Ere  thrice  the  sun  goes  dovn\  beyond  those  peaks, 

Then   straightway  plunge  thy  falchion  in  my  breast. 

For  'twere  not  meet  that  thy  handmaid  should   live 

Having  deceived  the  crown  and  flower  of  nien." 

She  spoke  and  paused  :  and  sweeter  on  his  ear 
Were  Jnditli's  words  than  ever  seemed  to  him 
The  wanton  laughter  of  the  Assyrian  girls 
Tn  the  bazaars  ;  and  listening  he  heard  not 
The  never-ceasing  murmurs  of  the  camp, 
The  neiirhiiiir  of  the   awful  battle-steeds, 


JUDITH.  153 

Nor  the  vain  wind  among  the  drowsy  palms. 
The  tents  that  straggled  up  the  hot  hillsides. 
The  warriors  lying  in  the  tangled  grass, 
The  fanes  and  turrets  of  the  distant  town. 
And  all  that  was,  dissolved  and  past  away. 
Save  this  one  woman  with  her  twilight  eyes 
And  the  miraculous  cadence  of  her  voice. 

Then  Judith,  catching  at  the  broken  thread 
Of  her  discourse,  resumed,  to  closer  draw 
The  silken  net  about  the  foolish  prince ; 
And  as  she  spoke,  from  time  to  time  her  gaze 
Dwelt  on  his  massive  stature,  and  she  saw 
That  he  was  shapely,  knitted  like  a  god, 
A  tower  beside  the  men  of  her  own  land. 

"  Heed,  Holofcrnes,  what  I  speak  this  day. 
And  thou  shult  ride  not  only  Bethulia, 
llich  with  its  hundred  altars'  crusted  gold, 
15  lit  Cades-Barne,  Jerusalem,  and  all 
The  vast  hill-country  even  to  the  sea  : 
For  I  am  come  to  give  unto  thy  hands 
The  key  of  Israel,  —  Israel  now  no  more, 
7* 


154  JUDITH. 

Since  she  disoAvns  her  Prophets  and  her  God. 

Know  then,  O  lord,  it  is  our  yearly  use 

To  lay  aside  the  first  fruit  of  the  grain. 

And  so  much  oil,  so  many  skins   of  wine, 

Which,  being  sanctitied,  are   kept  intact 

For  the  High  Priests  wlip  serve  before  our  God 

In  the  great  temple  at  Jerusalem. 

This  holy  food  —  which  even  to  touch  is  death  — 

The  rulers,  sliding  from  their  ancient  faith, 

Would  fain  lay  hands  on,  being  wcUnigh   starved ; 

And  they  have  sent  a  runner  to  the  Priests 

(The  Jew  Ben  Eaphaim,  who,  at  dead  of  night, 

Shot  like  a  javelin  between  thy  guards), 

Bearing  a  parchment  begging  that  the  Church 

Yield  them  permit  to  cat  the  sacred  corn. 

But  "t  is  not  lawful  they   should  do  tliis  thing. 

Yet  will  they  do   it.     Tlien  slialt   thou  ])ehold 

The  arelurs   tumbling  headlong   from    tlu;   walls, 

Tlieir  strengtli  gone  IVom  them  ;  thou  slialt  see  the  spears 

Splitting  like  reeds   within  the  spearmen's  hands, 

And  the  pale  captains  tottering  like  old  men 

Stricken  with  palsy.     Then,  O  glorious  prince, 

Then  with  ihy  trumpets  blaring  doleful  dooms, 


JUDITH.  155 

And  thy  silk  banners  flapping-  in  the  wind, 

With  squares  of  men  and  eager  clouds  of  horse 

Thou  shalt  swoop  down  on  them,  and  strike  them  dead ! 

But  now,  my  lord,  before  this  come  to   pass, 

Three  days  must  wane,  for  they  touch  not  the  food 

Until  the  Jew  Ben  Kaphaim  shall  return 

With  the  Priests'  message.     Here  among  thy   hosts, 

O  Holofernes,  will  I  dwell  the  while, 

Asking  but  this,  that  I  and  my  handmaid 

Each  night,  at  the  twelfth  hour,  may  egress  have 

Unto  the  valley,  there  to  weep  and  pray 

That  God  forsake  this  nation  in  its  sin. 

And  as  my  propliecy  prove  true  or  false, 

So  be  it  with  me." 

Judith   ceased,  and  stood, 
Her  hands  across  her  bosom,  as  in  prayer; 
And  Holofernes  answered :   "  Be  it  so. 
And  if,  0  pearl  of  women,  the  event 
Prove  not  a  dwarf  beside  the  prophecy, 
Tlicn  there  's  no  woman  like  thee  —  no,  not  one. 
Thy  name  shall  be  renowned  through  the  world, 
Music  shall  wait  on  tliee,  thou  shalt  have  crowns. 
And  jewel-chests  of  costly  camphor-wood. 


156  JUDITH. 

And  robes  as  glossy  as  the  ring-dove's  neck, 
And  milk-white  mares,  and  chariots,  and  slaves : 
And  thou  shalt  dwell  with  me  in  Nineveh, 
In  Nineveh,  the  City  of  the  Gods ! " 

At  which  the  Jewish  woman  bowed  her  head 
Humbly,  that  Ilolofcriics  might  not  see 
How  blanched  her  cheek  grew.     "  Even  as  tliou  wilt, 
So  would  thy  servant."     xVt  a  word  the  slaves 
Brought  meat  and  wine,  and  placed  them  in  a  tent, 
A  silk  pavilion,  wronglit  with  arabesques, 
That  stood  apart,  for  Judith  and  her  maid. 
But  Judith  ate  not,  saying  :  "  Master,  no. 
It  is  not  lawful  that  we  taste  of  these  ; 
My  maid  has  brought  a  pouch  of  parclird  com, 
And  bread,  and  figs,  and  wine  of  our  own  land, 
Which  shall  not  fail  us."     Ilolofcrncs  said, 
"  So  let  it  be,"  and  lifting  up  tlu.'  screen 
Past  out,  and  left  them  sitting  in  tlie  tent. 

That  day  he  mixt  not  witli  the  warriors 
As  was  his  wont,  nor  watchrd  tlicm  at  tlieir  games 
In  the  wide  shadow  of  tlie  terebinth-trees ; 


JUDITH.  157 

But  up  and  down  within  a  lonely  grove 
Paced  slowly,  brooding  on  her  perfect  face, 
Saying  her  smooth  words  over  to  himself. 
Heedless  of  time,  tiU  he  looked  up  and  saw 
The  spectre  of  the  Twilight  on  the  hiUs. 

The  fame  of  Judith's  loveliness  had  flown 
From  lip  to  lip  throughout  the  canvas  town. 
And  as  the  evening  deepened,  many  came 
From  neighboring  camps,  ^vith  frivolous  excuse. 
To  pass  the  green  pavilion,  —  long-haired  chiefs 
That  dwelt  by  the  Hydaspe,  and  the  sons 
Of  the  Elymeans,  and  slim  Tartar  youths ; 
But  saw  not  her,  who,  shut  from  common  air. 
Basked  in  the  twilight  of  the  tapestries. 

But  when  night  came,  and  all  the  camp  was  still, 
And  nothing  moved  beneath  tlie  icy  stars 
In  their  blue  bourns,  except  some  stealthy  guard, 
A  shadow  among  sliadows,  Judith  rose. 
Calling  her  servant,  and  the  sentinel 
Drew  buck,  and  let  her  pass  b(Toii(l  the  lines 
Into  the  valley.     And  licr  heart  was  full, 
Seeinc:  the  watch-fu'cs  burniuGr  on  the  towers 


158  JUDITH. 

Of  her  own  city  :  and  she  knelt  and  prayed 
For  it  and  thera  that  dwelt  within  its  walls, 
And  was  refreshed,  —  such  balm  there  lies  in  prayer 
For  those  who  know  God  listens.     Straightway  then 
The  two  returned,  and  all  the  camp  was  still. 

One  cresset  twinkled  dimly  in  the  tent 
Of  Ilolofernes,  and  Bagoas,  his  slave. 
Lay  prone  across  tlic  matting  at  the  door. 
Drunk  with  the  Avine  of  slumber ;  but  his  lord 
Slept  not,  or,  sleeping,  rested  not  for  thought 
Of  Judith's  beauty.     Two  large  lucent  (yes. 
Tender  and  full  as  moons,  dawned  on  his  sleep  ; 
And  when  he  woke,  tliey  filled  tlie  vacant  dusk 
With  an  unearthly  splendor.     All  niglit  long 
A   stately  figure  glided  through  his  dream  ; 
Somctinu'S  a  queenly  diadem  weighed  down 
lis  braided  tresses,  and   sometimes  it  came 
Draped  oidy  in  a  misty  cloud  of  veils, 
Like  the  King's  dancing-girls  at  Xineveh. 
And  once  it  bent  above;  him  in  the  gloom, 
And  touched  his  forehead  with  most   liniigry  lips. 
Tlicn  ITolofcrnes  turned  ii])on  his  couch. 
And,  yearning  for  tlie  daybreak,  slept  no  more. 


JUDITH.  159 


III. 


THE  FLIGHT. 

TN  the  far  east,  as  viewless  tides  of  time 

Drew  on  the  drifting  shallop  of  the  Dawn, 
A  fringe  of  gold  went  rippling  up  the  gray. 
And  breaking  rosily  on  cliff  and  spur, 
Still  left  the  vale  in  shadow.     Whil^  the  fog 
Folded  the  camp  of  Assur,  and  the  dew 
Yet  shook  in  clusters  on  the  new  green  leaf. 
And  not  a  bird  had  dipt  a  wing  in  air, 
The  restless  captain,  haggard  with  no  sleep, 
Stept  over  the  curved  body  of  his  slave. 
And  thridding  moodily  the  dingy  tents. 
Hives  packed  with  sleepers,  stood  within  the  grove. 
And  in  the  cool,  gray  twilight  gave  his  thought 
Wings ;  but  however  wide  his  fancies  flew, 
They  circled  still  the  figure  of  his  dream. 

He  sat :  before  him  rose  the  fluted  domes 
Of  Nineveh,  his  citv,  and  he  heard. 


160  JUDITH. 

The  clatter  of  the  merchants  in  the  booths 

Selling  their  merchandise :  and  now  he  breathed 

The  airs  of  a  great  river,  sweeping  down 

Past  carven  pillars,  imder  tamarisk  boughs, 

To  where  the  broad  sea  sparkled  :  then  he  groped 

In  a  damp  catacomb,  he  knew  not  where. 

By  torchlight,  hunting  for  his  oaxti  grim  name 

On  some  sarcophagus  :  and  as  he  mused, 

From  out  the  ruined  kingdom  of  the  Past 

Glided  the  myriad  women  he  had  A\Tongcd, 

The  half-forgotten  passions  of  his  youth ; 

Dark-browed  were  some,  with  haughty,  sultry  eyes, 

Imperious  and  most  ferocious  loves  ; 

And  some,  meek  blondes  with  lengths  of  flaxen  hair,  — 

Daughters  of  Sunrise,  shaped  of  fire  and  snow. 

And  Holofernes  smiled  a  bitter  smile 

Seeing  tliese  spectres  in  his  revery, 

Wlien  suddenly  one  face  among  the  train 

Turned  full  upon  him,  —  such  a  piteous  face, 

i)Iaiiclic(l  with   such  anguish,  looking  such  rcproacli. 

So  suiikcn-iycd  and  awful  in   its  woe, 

lli^  lic'irt    shook   in  his  ])()soiii,  and  lu'  rose 

A-    T  1(1    -:i':;:'    it,    ..'id    biTon'   liini    stood 


JUDITH.  161 

Bagoas,  the  bondsman,  bearing  in  his  arms 
A  jar  of  water,  while  the  morning  broke 
In  dewy  splendor  all  about  the  grove. 

Then  Holofemes,  vext  that  he  was  cowed 
By  his  own  fantasy,  strode  back  to  camp, 
Bagoas  following,  sullen,  like  a  hound 
That  takes  the  color  of  his  master's  mood. 
And  with  the  troubled  captain  Avent  the  shapes 
Which  even  the  daylight  could  not  exorcise, 

"  Go,  fetch  me  wine,  and  let  my  soul  make  cheer, 
Por  I  am  sick  with  visions  of  the  night. 
Some  strangest  malady  of  breast  and  brain 
Hath  so  unnerved  me  that  a  rustling  leaf 
Sets  my  pulse  leaping.     'Tis  a  family  flaw, 
A  flaw  in  men  else  flawless,  this  dark  spell : 
I  do  remember  when  my  grandsire  died. 
He  thought  a  lying  Ethiop  he  had  slain 
Was  strangling  liim  ;  and,  later,  my  own  sire 
Went  mad  with  dreams  the  day  before  his  death. 
And  I,  too  ?     Slave  !  go  Mch  me  seas  of  wine, 
Tliat    ^   m.'iv   (Irnv.-M    tlie-^e    far.ta-ie-^  —  no,    stay! 


1G2  JUDITH. 

Eansack  the  camps  for  choicest  flesh  and  fniit, 
And  spread  a  feast  within  my  tent  this  night, 
And  liang  the  place  with  garlands  of  new  flowers ; 
Then  bid  the  Hebrew  woman,  yea  or  nay, 
To  banquet  Avith  lis.     As  tliou  lov'st  the  light, 
Bring  lier;  and  if  indeed  the  gods  have  called. 
The  gods  shall  find  me  sitting  at  my  feast 
Consorting  with  a  daughter  of  the  god* !  " 

Thus  Ilolofernes,  turning  on  his  heel 
Impatiently  ;  and  straight  Bagoas  went 
And  spoiled  the  camps  of  viands  for  the  feast, 
And  hung  the  place  with  flowers,  us  he  was  bid; 
And  seeing  Judith's  servant  at   the  well, 
Gave  his  lortl's  message,  to   which  answer  came: 
"0   wli;it  urn   r   that   should  gainsay   niy   lord?" 
And  Ilolofernes  smiled  within,   and   thought  : 
"  Or  life  or  death,   if  I   should   have  her  not 
In  spite  of  all,   my  mighty   name   would   be 
A  word   for  laughter  among  womankind." 

"So  soon!"  thought  .Judith.   "Flying  pulse,  l)e  s'!!; 
0  Thou  who  lovest   Israel,  give  me  strength 


JUDITH.  163 

And  cunning  such  as  never  woman  had, 
That  my  deceit  may  be  his  stripe  and  scar. 
My  kisses  his  destruction.     This  for  thee, 
My  city,  Bethulia,  this  for  thee !  " 

And  thrice  that  day  she  prayed  within  her  heart, 
Bowed  down  among  the  cushions  of  the  tent 
In  shame  and  wretchedness ;  and  thus  she  prayed  : 
"  0  save  me  from  him,  Lord  !  but  save  me  most 
From  mine  own  sinful  self :  for,  lo !  this  man. 
Though  viler  than  the  vilest  thing  that  walks, 
A  worshipper  of  fire  and  senseless  stone. 
Slayer  of  children,  enemy  of  God,  — 
He,  even  he,  0  Lord,  forgive  my  sin, 
Hath  by  his  heathen  beauty  moved  me  more 
Than  should  a  daughter  of  Judea  be  moved. 
Save  by  the  noblest.     Clothe  me  with  Thy  love, 
And  rescue  me,  and  let  me  trample  down 
All  evil  thought,  and  fi'om  my  baser  self 
Climb  up  to  Thee,  that  aftertimes  may  say : 
She  tore  the  guilty  passion  from  her  soul,  — 
Judith  the  pure,  the  faithful  unto  death." 


164  JUDITH. 

Half  seen  behind  the  forehead  of  a  crag 

The  evening-star  grew  sharp  against  tlie  dusk, 

As  Judith  lingered  by  the  curtained  door 

Of  her  pavilion,  waiting  for  Biigoas : 

Erewhile  he  came,  and  led  her  to  the  tent 

Of  Holofernes;  and  she  entered  in. 

And  knelt  before  him  in  the  cresset's  glare 

Demurely,  like  a  slave-girl  at  the  feet 

> 
Of  her  new  master,  while  the  modest  blood 

Makes  protest  to  the  eyelids ;  and  he   h'aned 

Graciously  over  her,  and  bade  her  rise 

And  sit  beside  him  on  the  leopard-skins. 

But  Judith  would  not,  yet  with  gentlest  grace 

Would  not ;  and  partly  to  conceal  her  blush. 

Partly  to  quell  the  riot  in  her  breast. 

She  tnrned,  and  wrapt  her  in  her  fleecy  scarf, 

And  stood  aloof,  nor  looked  as  one  that  breathed, 

But  rather  like  some  jewelled  deity 

TaV'U  by  a  conqueror  from  its  sacred  niche, 

And  placed  among  the  trappings  of  his  tent,  — 

So  pure  was  Judith. 

For  a  moment's  space 

She  stood,  then  stealing  softly  to  his  side, 


JUDITH.  165 

Knelt  down  by  him,  and  with  uplifted  face, 
Whereon  the  red  rose  blossomed  with  the  white : 
"  This  night,  my  lord,  no  other  slave  than  I 
Shall  wait  on  thee  with  fruits  and  flowers  and  wine. 
So  subtle  am  I,  I  shall  know  thy  wish 
Ere  thou  canst  speak  it.     Let  Bagoas  go 
Among  his  people  :  let  me  wait  and  serve. 
More  happy  as  thy  handmaid  than  thy  guest." 

Thereat  he  laughed,  and,  humoring  her  mood, 
Gave  the  black  bondsman  freedom  for  the  night. 
Then  Judith  moved,  obsequious,  and  placed 
The  meats  before  him,  and  poured  out  the  wine, 
Holding  the  golden  goblet  while  he  ate. 
Nor  ever  past  it  empty;  and  the  wine 
Seemed  richer  to  him  for  those  slender  hands. 
So  Judith  served,  and  Holofernes  drank, 
Until  the  lamps  that  glimmered  round  the  tent 
In  mad  processions  danced  before  his  gaze. 

Without,  the  moon  dropt  down  behind  the  sky; 
Witliin,  the  odors  of  the  hcaw  flowers, 
And  the  aromas  of  the  mist  tliat  curled 


166  JUDITH. 

From  swinging  cressets,  stole  into  the  air; 

And  through  the  mist  he  saw  her  come  and  go, 

Now  showing  a  faultless  arm  against  the  light, 

And  now  a  dainty  sandal  set  with  gems. 

At  last  he  knew  not  in  what  place  he  was. 

For  as  a  man  who,  softly  held  by  sleep, 

Knows  that  he  dreams,  yet  knows  not  true  from  false, 

Perplext  between  the  margins  of  two  worlds, 

So  Holofernes,  flushed  with  the  red  wine. 

Like  a  bride's  eyes,  the  eyes  of  Judith  shone, 
As  ever  bending  over  him  with  smiles 
She  filled  the  generous  chalice  to  the  edge  ; 
And  half  he  shnuik  from  her,  and  knew  not  why, 
Then  wliolly  loved  her  for  her  loveliness, 
And  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  breathed  her  breath  ; 
And  once  he  thouglit  tlie  Hebrew  woman  sang 
A  wine-song,  touching  on  a  certain  king 
Who,  dying  of  strange  sickness,  drank,  and  past 
Beyond  the  touch  of  mortal  agony,  — 
A  vague  tradition  of  the  cunning  sprite 
That  dwells  within  the  circle  of  the  grape. 
And  thus  he  heard,  or  fancied  that  he  heard  :  — 


JUDITH.  167 

"The  small  green  grapes  in  countless  clusters  grew, 
Feeding  on  mystic  moonlight  and  white  dew 
And  mellow  sunshine,  the  long  summer  through : 

"Till,  with  faint  tremor  in  her  veins,  the  Vine 
Felt  the  delicious  pulses  of  the  wine; 
And  the  grapes  ripened  in  the  year's  decline. 

"And  day  by  day  the  Virgins  watched  their  charge; 
And  when,  at  last,  beyond  the  horizon's  marge, 
The  harvest-moon  droopt  beautifid  and  large, 

"  The  subtle  spirit  in  the  grape  was  caught, 
And  to  the  slowly  dying  Monarch  brought. 
In  a  great  cup  fantastically  wrought, 

"  "Whereof  he  drank  ;  then  straightway  from  his  brain 
Went  the  weird  malady,  and  once  again 
He  walked  the  Palace,  free  of  scar  or  pain,  — 

"  But  strangely  changed,  for  somehow  he  had  lost 
Body  and  voice :  the  courtiers,  as  he  crost 
The  royal  chambers,  whispered,  —  The  K'in(fi  GJiost !  " 


168  JUDITH. 

"A  poteut  medicine  for  kings  and  men," 
Thus  Holofernes ;  "  he  was  wise  to  drink. 
Be  thou  as  wise,  fair  Judith."     As  he  spoke. 
He  stoopt  to  kiss  the  treacherous  soft  hand 
That  rested  like  a  snow-flake  on  his  arm, 
But  stooping  reeled,  and  from  the  place  he  sat 
Toppled,  and  feU  among  the  leopard-skins : 
There  lay,  nor  stirred;  and  ere  ten  beats  of  heart. 
The  tawny  giant  slumbered. 

Judith  knelt 
And  gazed  upon  him,  and  her  thoughts  were  dark 
For  half  she  longed  to  bid  her  purpose  die, — 
To  stay,  to  weep,  to  fold  him  in  her  arms, 
To  let  her  long  hair  loose  upon  his  face, 
As  on  a  mountain-top  some  amorous  cloud 
Lets  down  its  sombre  tresses  of  fine  rain. 
For  one  wild  instant  in  her  burning  arms 
She  held  him  sleeping;  then  grew  wan  as  death, 
Relaxed  her  hold,  and  starting  from  his  side 
As  if  an  asp  had  stung  her  to  the  quick. 
Listened  ;  and  listening,  she  heard  the  moans 
Of  little  children  moaning  in  the  streets 


JUDITH.  169 

Of  Bethnlia,  saw  famished  women  pass, 
Wringing  their  hands,  and  on  the  broken  walls 
The  flower  of  Israel  dying. 

With  quick  breath 
Judith  blew  out  the  tapers,  all  save  one, 
And  from  his  twisted  girdle  loosed  the  sword, 
And  grasping  the  huge  hilt  with  her  two  hands. 
Thrice  smote  the  Prince  of  Assur  as  he  lay. 
Thrice  on  his  neck  she  smote  him  as  he  lay. 
And  from  the  brawny  shoulders  rolled  the  head 
Winking  and  ghastly  in  the  cresset's  light; 
Which  done,  she  fled  into  the  yawaiing  dark. 
There  met  her  maid,  who,  stealing  to  the  tent. 
Pulled  down  the  crimson  arras  on  the  corse, 
And  in  her  mantle  wrapt  the  brazen  head, 
And  brought  it  A\ath  her  ;  and  a  great  gong  boomed 
Twelve,  as  the  women  glided  past  the  guard 
With  measured  footstep  :  but  outside  tlu^  ciunp, 
Terror  seized  on  tliem,  and  they  fled  like  wraitl'.s 
Tlirough  the  hushed  midniglit  into  tlie  black  wonlr^, 
Where,  from  gnarled  roots  and  ancient,  palsied  trees, 
Dread  shapes,  upstarting,  clutched  at   them  ;  and  oi: .  „ 


170  JUDITH. 

A  nameless  bird  in  branches  overhead 

Screeched,  and  the  blood  grew  cold  about  their  hearts. 

By  mouldy  caves,  the  hooded  viper's  haunt, 

Down  perilous  steeps,  and  through  the  desolate  gorge, 

Onward  they  flew,  with  madly  streaming  hair, 

Bearing  their  hideous  burden,  till  at  last. 

Wild  with  the  pregnant  hoiTors  of  the  night, 

They  dashed  themselves  against  the  City's  gate. 

The  hours  dragged  by,  and  in  the  Assur  camp 
The  pulse  of  life  was  throbbing  languidly, 
When  from  the  outer  waste  an  Arab  scout 
Eushed  pale  and  breathless  on  the  morning  watch, 
With  a  strange  story  of  a  Head  that  hung 
High  in  the  air  above  the  City's  wall,  — 
A  livid  Head,  with  knotted,  snake-like  curls,  — 
And  how  the  face  Avas  like  a  face  he  knew, 
And  how  it  turned  and  twisted  in  the  wind, 
And  liow  it  stared  upon  him  with  fixt  orbs. 
Till   it  was  not  in  mortal  man  to  stay ; 
And  how  lie  fled,  and  how  he  thought  the  Thing 
Came  bowling  through  the  Avheat-ficlds  after  him. 
And  some  that  listened  were  appalled,  and  some 


JUDITH.  171 

Derided  him;  but  not  the  less  they  threw 
A  furtive  glance  toward  the  shadowy  wood. 

Bagoas,  among  the  idlers,  heard  the  man, 
And  quick  to  bear  the  tidings  to  his  lord, 
Ban  to  the  tent,  and  called,  "  My  lord,  awake ! 
Awake,  my  lord !  "  and  lingered  for  reply. 
But  answer  came  there  none.     Again  he  called, 
And  all  was  still.     Then,  laughing  in  his  heart 
To  think  how  deeply  Holofernes  slept 
Wrapt  in  soft  arms,  he  lifted  up  the  screen, 
And  marvelled,  finding  no  one  in  the  tent 
Save  Holofernes,  buried  to  the  waist. 
Head  foremost  in  the  canopies.     He  stoopt. 
And  dramng  back  the  damask  folds  beheld 
His  master;  the  grim  giant,  lying  dead. 

As  in  some  breathless  wilderness  at  night 
A  leopard,  pinioned  by  a  falling  tree, 
Shrieks,  and  the  echoes,  mimicking  the  cry, 
Repeat  it  in  a  thousand  different  keys 
By  lonely  heights  and  uniniagined  caves, 
So  shrieked  Bagoas,  and  so  his  cry  was  caught 


172  JUDITH. 

And  voiced  along  the  vast  Assyrian  lines, 

And  buffeted  among  the  hundred  hills. 

Then  ceased  the  tumult  sudden  as  it  rose, 

And  a  great  silence  feU  upon  the  camps, 

And  aU  the  people  stood  like  blocks  of  stone 

In  some  deserted  quarry ;  then  a  voice 

Blown  through  a  trumpet  clamored  :  lie  is  dead ! 

The  Prince  is  dead!     The  Hebrew  witch  hath  slain 

Prince  Holofernes  !     Fly,  Assi/rians,  Jly  ! 

As  from  its  lair  the  mad  tornado  leaps. 
And,  seizing  on  the  yellow  desert  sands, 
Hurls  them  in  swirling  masses,  cloud  on  cloud, 
So,  at  the  sounding  of  that  baleful  voice, 
A  panic  seized  the  mighty  Assur  hosts. 
And  flung  them  from  their  places. 

With   wild  sliouts 
Across  the  hills  in  pale  dismay  tlicy  fled, 
Trampling  the  sick  and  wounded  under  foot, 
Leaving  their  tents,  their  camels,  and  their  anus, 
Their  horses,  and  their  gilded  chariots. 
Then  with  a  dull  metallic  clang  the  gates 
Of  Bethidia  opened,  and  from  each 


JUDITH.  173 

A  sea  of  spears  surged  down  the  arid  hills 
And  broke  remorseless  on  the  flying  foe,  — 
Now  hemmed  them  in  upon  a  river's  bank, 
Now  drove  them  shrieking  down  a  precipice. 
Now  in  the  mountain-passes  slaughtered  them. 
Until  the  land,  for  many  a  weary  league, 
Was  red,  as  in  the  sunset,  with  their  blood. 
And  other  cities,  when  they  saw  the  rout 
Of  Holofernes,  burst  their  gates,  and  joined 
With  trump  and  banner  in  the  mad  pursuit. 
Three  days  before  those  unrelenting  spears 
The  cohorts  fled,  but  on  the  fourth  they  past 
Beyond  Damascus  into  their  own  land. 

So,  by  God's  grace  and  this  one  woman's  hand, 
The  tombs  and  temples  of  the  Just  were  saved ; 
And  evermore  throughout  fair  Israel 
The  name  of  Judith  meant  all  noblest  things 
In  thought  and  deed;  and  Judith's  life  was  rich 
With  that  content  the  world  takes  not  away. 
And  far-off"  kings,  enamoured  of  her  fame, 
Bluff"  princes,  dwellers  by  the  salt  sea-sands. 
Sent  caskets  most  laboriously  carved 


174  JUDITH. 

Of  ivory,  and  papynis  scrolls,  whereon 

Was  writ  their  passion;  then  themselves  did  come 

With  spicy  caravans,  in  purple  state, 

To  seek  regard  from  her  imperial  eyes. 

But  she  remained  unwed,  and  to  the  end 

Walked  with  the  angels  in  her  widow's  weeds. 


YI. 
SONNETS. 


SONNETS. 


EUTEEPE. 

"VTOW  if  Euterpe  held  me  not  in  scorn, 

I  'd  shape  a  lyric,  perfect,  fair,  and  round 
As  that  thin  band  of  gold  wherewith  I  bound 
Your  slender  finger  our  betrothal  morn. 
Not  of  Desire  alone  is  music  born, 
Not  till  the  Muse  walls  is  our  passion  crowned  : 
Unsought  she  comes,  if  sought  but  seldom  found. 
Hence  is  it  Poets  often  are  forlorn, 
Taciturn,  shy,  self-iramolatcd,  pale. 
Taking  no  healthy  pleasure  in  their  kind,  — 
Wrapt  in  their  dream  as  in  a  coat-of-mail. 
Hence  is  it  T,  the  least,  a  very  hind, 
Have  stolen  awav  into  this  leafv  vale 
Drawn  by  the  tlutings  of  tlie  silvery  %nnd. 

8*  L 


178  SONNETS. 


AT  BAY  EIDGE,   LONG  ISLAND. 

■pLEASANT  it  is  to  lie  amid  the  grass 

Under  these  shady  locusts,  half  the  day, 
Watching  the  ships  reflected  on  the  Bay, 
Topmast  and  shroud,  as  in  a  wizard's  glass  : 
To  see  the  happy-hearted  martins  pass, 
Brushing  the  dew-drops  from  the  lilac  spray  : 
Or  else  to  hang  enamoured  o'er  some  lay 
Of  fairy  regions :  or  to  muse,  alas ! 
On  Dante,  exiled,  journeying  outworn ; 
On  patient  Milton's  sorrowfulest  eyes 
Shut  from  the  splendors  of  the  Night  and  Morn 
To  think  that  now,  beneath   the  Italian  skies. 
In  such  clear  air  as  this,  by  Tiber's  wave. 
Daisies  are  trembling  over  Keats's  grave. 


PURSUIT   AND    POSSESSION.  179 


PURSUIT  AND  POSSESSION. 

TTTHEN  I  behold  what  pleasure  is  Pursuit, 
What  life,  what  glorious  eagerness  it  is  ; 
Then  mark  how  fuU  Possession  faUs  from  this, 
How  fairer  seems  the  blossom  than  the  fruit,  — 
I  am  perplext,  and  often  stricken  mute 
Wondering  which  attained  the  higher  bliss. 
The  winged  insect,  or  the  chrysalis 
It  thrust  aside  with  unreluctant  foot. 
Spirit  of  verse,  that  still  elud'st  my  art, 
Thou  airy  phantom  that  dost  ever  haunt  me, 
O  never,  never  rest  upon  my  heart. 
If  when  I  have  thee  I  shall  little  Avant  thee ! 
StiU  flit  away  in  moonlight,  rain,  and  dew, 
Will-o'-the-wisp,  that  I  may  still  pursue ! 


180  SONNETS. 


EGYPT. 

"PANTASTIC  Sleep  is  busy  with  my  eyes  : 
I  seem  in  some  waste  solitude  to   stand 
Once  ruled  of  Cheops :  upon  either  hand 
A  dark  illimitable  desert  lies, 
Sultry  and  still,  —  a  realm  of  mysteries  ; 
A  Avide-browed  Sphinx,  half  buried  in  the  sand. 
With  orbless  sockets  stares  across  the  land. 
The  woefidest  thing  beneath  these  brooding  skies, 
Where  all  is  woefid,  weird-lit  vacancy. 
'T  is  neither  midnight,  twilight,  nor  moonrise. 
Lo  !  while  I  gaze,  beyond  the  vast  sand-sea 
Tlie  nebidous  clouds  are  downward  slowly  di-awii, 
And  one  bleared  star,  faiut-glininiering  like  a  bee, 
Is  shut  in  the  rosy  outstretched  hand  of  Dawn. 


MI&ACLES.  181 


MIRACLES, 

QICK  of  myself  and  all  that  keeps  the  light 

Of  the  blue  skies  away  from  me  and  mine, 
I  climb  this  ledge,  and  by  this  wind-swept  pine 
Lingering,  watch  the  coming  of  the  night. 
'T  is  ever  a  new  wonder  to  my  sight. 
Men  look  to  God  for  some  mysterious  sign, 
For  other  stars  than  those  that  nightly  shine, 
For  some  unnatural  symbol  of  His  might :  — 
Wouldst  see  a  miracle  as  grand  as  those 
The  prophets  wrought  of  old  in  Palestine  ? 
Come  watch  wdth  me  the  shaft  of  fire  that  glows 
In  yonder  West;  the  fair,  frail  palaces, 
The  fading  alps  and  archipelagoes, 
And  great  cloud-coutinents  of  sunset-seas. 


182  SONNETS. 


FREDERICKSBURG. 

'T^HE  increasing  moonlight  drifts  across  my  bed, 
And  on  the  churchyard  by  the  road,   I  know 
It  falls  as  white  and  noiselessly  as  snow.   .   . 
'T  was  such  a  night  two  weary  summers  fled ; 
The  stars,  as  now,  were  waning  overhead. 
Listen !     Again  the  shrill-lipped  bugles  blow 
Where  the  swift  currents  of  the  river  flow 
Past  Fredericksburg :  far  off  the  heavens  are  red 
With  sudden  conflagration :  on  yon  height, 
Linstock  in  hand,  the  gunners  hold  their  breath  : 
A  signal-rocket  pierces  the  dense  night, 
Flings  its  spent  stars  upon  the  trnvn  beneath  : 
Hark!  —  the  artillery  massing  on  the  right, 
Hark! — the  black  squadrons  wheeling  down  to  Death 


BY   THE    POTOMAC.  183 


BY  THE  POTOMAC. 

'T'HE  soft  new  grass  is  creeping  o'er  the  graves 
By  the  Potomac ;  and  the  crisp  ground-flower 
Lifts  its  blue  cup  to  catch  the  passing  shower ; 
The  pine-cone  ripens,  and  the  long  moss  waves 
Its  tangled  gonfalons  above  our  braves. 
Hark,  what  a  bui'st  of  music  from  yon  bower !  — 
The  Southern  nightingale  that,  hour  by  hour, 
In  its  melodious  summer  madness  raves. 
Ah,  vnth.  what  delicate  touches  of  her  hand. 
With  what  sweet  voices,  Nature  seeks  to  screen 
Tlie  awful  Crime  of  this  distracted  land,  — 
Sets  lier  birds  singing,  while  she  spreads  her  green 
Mantle  of  velvet  where  the  Murdered  lie, 
As  if  to  hide  the  horror  from  God's  eye. 


L'ENVOI. 

THIS  is  my  Youth,  —  its  hopes  mid  dreams. 
How  strange  and  shadowy  it  all  seems, 
jifter  these  many  years! 
Turning  the  pages  idly,  so, 
I  look  with  smiles  upon  the  woe, 
Upon  the  Joy  with  tears ! 

Go,  little  Book.     The  old  and  wise 
Will  greet  thee  with  suspicions  eyes. 

With  stare,  or  furtive  frown  ; 
But  here  and  there  some  golden  maid 
May  like  thee  .  .  .  thou  'It  not  be  afraid 

Of  young  eyes,  blue  or  broken. 

To  such  a  one,  perchance  thou  'It  sing 
As  clearly  as  a  bird  in  spring 

Hading  the  apple-blosHom  ; 
And  she  will  let  thee  make  thy  nest. 
Perhaps,  within  her  snorcy  breast. 

Go;  rest  thou  in  her  bosom. 


17869 


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